Pathways
by dashabout
Summary: Seven years after Matthew married Lavinia, Mary is living in London. She has moved on with her life, but things are about to change in ways she never expected.
1. Chapter 1

"That certainly didn't end well."

Lady Mary Crawley sat alone at the dining table in her house in Eaton Square. She'd just read a bit of gossip in the morning paper about the divorce of Viscount Gillingham and his wife, the former Mabel Lane Fox. Adultery. Cruelty. _Typical_ , she thought to herself. Shrugging her shoulders and rolling her eyes, she reached for her second cup of coffee. As a wealthy single woman in 1927 London, she counted her blessings that she did not succumb to the oily charms of men who sought to woo her. She had seen too many disastrous marriages and had no intention of getting married just for the sake of appearances. She was past the age of caring whether she _ever_ married although her mama still wrote her regularly to inquire if she had "met anyone nice" yet. _Oh, Mama…_.

She'd had her chance and missed it.

She couldn't allow regret to rule her life, yet _what if?_ popped up occasionally in the dim recess of her mind, especially when she settled into bed and allowed loneliness to gain a foothold. For the most part, however, she was content with her life. Upon her death six years ago, Aunt Rosamund had left her Painswick House and a considerable settlement to cover its upkeep, no doubt in part to make amends for the adverse effect she'd had on Mary's life in 1914. Mary jumped at the chance to leave Downton because living under the watchful eyes of her parents (and others) was becoming more and more tiresome. They'd never really gotten over the Pamuk incident, and when a vindictive Richard published the story after she broke with him, she felt smothered by the recriminations and whispers that filled the air around Downton. Of course, the story followed her to London, but her affluence certainly served as a buffer, and the aristocrats with whom she socialized valued her for her ability to host elegant soirees and soon ignored her tainted reputation. What the public didn't know, however, was aside from some groping and uncomfortably passionate kissing, Pamuk died before they actually had intercourse. She was a thirty-five-year-old virgin who likely would remain so for the rest of her life.

Really, though, she was kidding herself if she didn't acknowledge her main reason for leaving. Matthew's marrying Lavinia knocked the stuffing out of her. They had locked eyes several times during the ceremony, and the way he looked at her infuriated her.

With longing.

With regret.

With love.

How dare he look at her that way when he had the power to prevent it?

Sitting stoically in the church, a smug Richard by her side, Mary had the sudden realization that marriage was something she no longer desired. Richard's threats meant nothing to her, and she resolved to end their engagement during that visit. She was in a fog for days after the wedding, and when Matthew and Lavinia came to dinner after returning from their honeymoon, she realized she was trapped at Downton, doomed to spend her life in a web of misery from which there was no escape. Months passed as she struggled to cope with the hollowness of her life. Loving and losing Matthew placed a weight on her soul from which she could never escape. Then, Aunt Rosamund died, and she had a way out.

Every year away from Downton lessened her pain. She no longer dwelt on _what might have been_.

Always the pragmatist, Lady Mary Crawley got on with her life.

Life in London suited her because there were no dinners where she would have to sit across from Matthew and try to avoid his gaze. She no longer had to feign interest in Lavinia's simpering discussions about living in Crawley House. In London there were intimate soirees to plan and to attend, letters to write, investments to make, and books to enjoy. Occasionally, she attended social gatherings on the arm of a soon-to-be-disappointed suitor. She liked the theatre although she hadn't attended a production since she removed the hand of the odious Earl of Langham from her thigh during a particularly tedious comedy of manners. (The memory of that experience always made her smile at the irony.) Except for occasional visits to Ireland to see Sybil, Tom, and their children, she rarely traveled, having no interest in dealing with the problems incurred by traveling for pleasure with only a maid. For the most part, she preferred the solitude her wealth afforded her.

She did enjoy the Season, though, which provided her the chance to see her mama and papa for a month or so. The party she hosted at Painswick House—she kept the name in honor of her aunt—was one of the grandest of the Season. The consummate hostess, Mary left nothing to chance. She oversaw every step leading up to it, from choosing its theme to hiring extra footmen. Everyone who was anyone attended in hopes of rubbing elbows with the Prince of Wales and other royal personages. People were intrigued with Lady Mary and her ability to attract such attention and yet remain such an enigma. She shunned public events during the Season, preferring intimate gatherings or private parties comprised of people with whom she was well acquainted.

At thirty-five, her beauty had yet to begin to fade; if anything, she actually was more beautiful than when she relocated to London. She could be counted on to reflect and refine the latest fashion trends. She certainly was no flapper, but she had the figure of one—long, slim, and willowy. She had made the acquaintance of Coco Chanel on a trip to Paris in 1923, and now she dressed almost exclusively in Chanel's designs, making trips to her salon four times a year. Her long chestnut tresses had gone by the wayside long ago, replaced by a sleek bob that accentuated her perfect cheekbones and set off her eyes. Women eyed her with admiration and envy; men eyed her with desire. People speculated as to why she chose to remain single, for, surely, she could have her pick of any of the single aristocratic men (and some of the married ones, too) who buzzed around her when she attended social functions.

She just wasn't interested. She had met no one who could fill the void in her life. Any physical needs she had could be dealt with in the privacy of her bedroom. She knew her own body well.

The morning she read about Tony and Mabel's divorce, three weeks had passed since the party at Painswick House. It had been a great success if the notes she had since received were any indication. Even the Prince was more effusive than usual although Mary suspected that his enthusiasm stemmed from the successful tryst he and a sultry blonde engaged in upstairs in the blue bedroom. Nevertheless, she was glad to have peace back in her life.

Her parents were coming for luncheon today before their return to Downton. Living away from them had eased the tension she had felt while living at the Abbey, so she was much more relaxed in their presence. In spite of their repeated entreaties, she had not been to Downton in six years, so this visit was something they all looked forward to.

They didn't understand why she wouldn't return.

She wouldn't tell them. Ever.

Of course, it was because of Matthew.

 _Matthew, who proclaimed that she was his stick as they danced their last dance._

 _Matthew, who promised he never would—he never could—despise her._

 _Matthew, who kissed her passionately and then left her bereft._

 _Matthew, who married Lavinia because he was so damned honorable._

 _Matthew, who broke her heart._

The longer Mary stayed away from Downton, the less painful the memories became. She had learned to live with them, pushing them back into that dim recess. Her steely resolve had served her well since she was a child, and it continued to do so since she moved to London. Sitting with her mama and papa at luncheon, she enjoyed hearing the news from Downton. Edith had delivered her second child with Sir Anthony four months ago, and her darling Sybil was still in Ireland with Tom. Her third child was due any day, so Mary made her mama promise to contact her as soon as her niece or nephew was born. Granny was quite frail but well, and Mary admitted to herself she missed her most of all. It had been a few years since Granny had traveled to London, so there was a good chance Mary might not ever see her again. Still, that wasn't enough for her to visit Downton. A prolific letter writer, Granny stayed in touch regularly, and Mary could hear her voice in each one:

 _You realize, of course, you will have to return for my funeral, and then it will be too late to ask my forgiveness for your moving away._

 _No, I will not have one of those contraptions in my house. If you wish to speak to me, come into my parlor._

 _If Isobel uses that imperious tone with me one more time, I shall shatter her great skull with my cane._

 _If you insist, I no longer will mention his name, but you're denying me the opportunity to expound upon the shortcomings of that little blonde piece, more's the pity._

 _I miss you dreadfully. You know you're most like me, so it's like missing a part of myself._

"And what of Carson and Anna? Are he and Mrs. Hughes still enjoying wedded bliss? And Anna and Bates's son? Is he as adorable as he seems to be in his pictures?" After Anna and Bates married, they left service and bought the Grantham Arms to run as a hotel. Mary still missed Anna's sweet smile and pleasant demeanor.

"Oh, Mary, he really is such a precious boy," exclaimed Cora. "He even manages to get a chuckle out of Carson and your papa when Anna brings him to the house."

Robert sniffed. "There's a reason children should be seen and not heard, my dear."

"Robert, don't be silly. You know you don't mind when he visits."

"I suppose. Still…."

"Carson and Mrs. Hughes are fine, too, dear," interrupted Cora. "They really are such a good team. I don't know what we'd do without them. I dread the day when they retire. Who in the world will replace them?"

"Who indeed?" replied Mary. She couldn't imagine the Abbey without Carson's formidable presence.

"You know, Mary, Matthew has taken over the management of the Abbey's business affairs now that Murray has retired," said Robert. "You ought to consider allowing him to look over your investments. He's done a marvelous job with ours. We've never been in better shape financially."

Mary blanched and her back straightened visibly. Her papa never seemed to miss an opportunity to extol Matthew's virtues. It irritated her to no end.

She answered in a measured tone, "How nice for you, Papa, but I'm perfectly happy with my present advisor. I have no need of Cousin Matthew's services."

Robert noticed her use of the honorific and shook his head. "I just thought…."

"Never mind, Robert. You know Mary is doing quite well managing her own affairs." Cora suspected Matthew had everything to do with her eldest daughter's refusal to visit Downton. She and Robert had spoken many times about this, yet he continued to scoff at the idea. Mary's reaction today solidified her belief.

"Quite right. Well, we need to be going if we're going to get to the train on time." He regretted bringing up Matthew's name since it obviously disturbed his daughter although he hoped by doing so he could prove to Mary how valuable Matthew was to the family. He always regretted that Mary and Matthew hadn't managed to solve whatever problems they faced and had married. Lavinia was a sweet girl, but she definitely was not countess material. Such a weakling. Such a barren shadow. Such a pity.

After her parents left the house, Mary leaned against the closed door. She so was enjoying the visit until _his_ name was mentioned. Would she always react so adversely when she heard it?

She shook her head and walked slowly to her sitting room to answer Granny's latest letter.


	2. Chapter 2

_**I must thank you all for the lovely responses to this story. There is a long way to go, but I'm pleased you think it's off to a good start. One caveat: I won't be posting Chapter 3 for a couple of weeks, so please don't think I've abandoned this story or you!**_

* * *

Matthew sat alone in the Abbey library nursing his second brandy. "Fifteen years," he whispered. In his mind 1912 seemed like yesterday. He remembered vividly reading the letter from Robert that would change his life. _My life. Such as it is._ So many things were different from what he had envisioned.

Normally, he was not one given to reminiscing or taking stock of things. He seldom gave himself time just to sit and think. Now, though, his mind was roiling. He worked hard for the estate, his work as a partner at Harvel, Carter, and Crawley kept him busy, and he generally accepted his lot in life. He couldn't say his life made him happy, but he was not discontented. Still, there always had been something missing, something that fed the feeling of emptiness he tried desperately to ignore.

 _Mary_.

 _Mary, who had the strength to leave._

 _Mary, whose passion once matched his own._

 _Mary, who inhabited his brain._

He filled his days with work—for the law firm, for the Abbey, for his sanity. Because of some questionable investments made at the end of the war, Robert had endangered the solvency of the estate. At the urging of Murray, the estate's long-time lawyer and trustee, Robert turned over the financial reins to Matthew four years ago. He promptly fired the land agent, oversaw reforms to spending and investment, and had the estate's finances in the black at the end of a year. His business acumen contributed to Robert's peace of mind, but it didn't completely assuage Matthew's disquiet. Being named a partner in the law firm increased his work load, but he could lose himself in the demands of the job, so he didn't mind the long hours.

His personal life hadn't fared so well. Lavinia's sweetness, which at first he found so appealing, became cloying. Her devotion to her father transformed into dependence on her husband. Her insecurity about her role as the wife of the heir turned into a total lack of self-confidence. She cried in his arms; he responded with exasperation. What he thought would be a marriage of comfort and serenity turned into one of frustration and acrimony. Matthew thought it odd that they never argued. Perhaps it was because their marriage was dispassionate. He couldn't help thinking how different his life would have been if he and Mary had married.

A life filled with passion.

A life filled with desire.

A life filled with love.

He still could remember how it felt to hold Mary in his arms the night they danced their final dance. _There was no silver lining for us_ , he thought sadly. How he ached for her, still, after seven years.

Unable to deal with her self-imposed burdens, Lavinia finally left him—while Robert and Cora were in London for the Season. He didn't tell them until their return late the previous evening, and he had yet to tell Violet (although he suspected she had gotten wind of it—she had her ways). He had arrived at Crawley House for lunch two weeks ago to find Isobel pacing in the parlor and Lavinia packing upstairs. His mother accepted the news with no comment other than to note she was surprised it hadn't happened sooner.

If he were honest with himself, he wasn't particularly surprised, either. Their marriage never lived up to what either of them expected. They were childless, and he finally had retreated to his dressing room to sleep a year and a half ago, the result of Lavinia's increasing unresponsiveness and depression. The silence between them was palpable. He had tried to make her happy, but perhaps she sensed his heart wasn't in it. She also was overwhelmed by the responsibility of being a countess-in-waiting and lacked the fortitude to rise to the challenge. She gradually retreated from him and from the family until hardly anyone seemed to notice her absence. She had been a haven of tranquility during the war, which led to his impulsive proposal, but one look at Mary when he brought Lavinia to Downton to meet the family told him he'd made a terrible mistake. He acknowledged his proposal was a direct result of Mary's hesitation, but by the time he knew the reason for her hesitancy, it was too late. He was duty-bound to marry Lavinia, and he resolved to make a go of their marriage, despite knowing he was marrying the wrong woman. _What a coward he had been!_ Robert had related to him how he and Cora hadn't fallen in love until at least a year into their marriage. Matthew supposed giving his marriage to Lavinia seven years was long enough for both of them.

He didn't ask her to stay.

 _It's no use, Matthew._

 _We don't love each other; I'm not sure we ever did._

 _I never was meant to be a countess, but I hope to regain some self-worth._

 _This is what I want. Be happy._

It would be expensive, but he discovered he could file a private bill in Parliament to dissolve the marriage, which would supersede the existing law requiring a charge of adultery against either Lavinia or him. There would be scandal, of course, but not to the extent there would be if they followed the normal channels. She had returned to London and took refuge in her father's house. Certainly, her life would be more affected than his. For all intents and purposes, he had been living alone for quite some time.

He wondered what Mary would think when she heard the news.

Robert and Cora did not take the news well. Although they were aware of the division that existed between Matthew and Lavinia, it had not occurred to them that the marriage would dissolve. They turned a blind eye to the tension and never mentioned it or offered advice. They were of the generation that endured bad marriages, so the split came as an unpleasant shock. Both were concerned that no heir had been produced; nevertheless, the idea that Matthew and Lavinia would divorce never had entered their minds.

"Good God. You can't be serious!" sputtered Robert, furious that Matthew seemed resigned to this outrageous situation. He didn't particularly like Lavinia, but for Matthew to agree to a divorce was beyond the pale. In his mind Matthew was the son he never had, so watching him make a mistake of this magnitude was insupportable. _He would be the next Earl, for God's sake! How could he allow this to happen?_

Matthew never had seen Robert so angry.

"Oh, dear, Matthew. This just can't be possible," gasped Cora, thinking of the social repercussions that would ensue. She had noticed Lavinia's increasing reticence over the years but never thought she would take such a drastic step.

Matthew stood before them, feeling rather like a scolded schoolboy, yet standing his ground. They pled with him to think seriously about the ramifications of divorce to his name—to his family—but he was adamant.

"There's no point, don't you see? She was miserable, as was I. This is for the best. I will not discuss it any further. This is our business, not yours, and I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourselves."

Robert was red-faced, and Cora was ashen when Matthew left for Crawley House. Slightly ashamed that they were more upset about the split than he was, he was intent on putting the confrontation behind him. He hoped they would accept the inevitability of the divorce. As he walked across the grounds, he realized he'd barely given Lavinia's absence a second thought during the past two weeks. He would continue to work with Robert on improvements to the Abbey and get on with his life.

But two hours ago, everything changed.

Once again, nothing ever would be the same.

He finished his brandy, walked to the telephone, and picked up the receiver.

* * *

 _I realize this seems like a tidy solution to the M/M problem. Trust me, it's not…._


	3. Chapter 3

Mary sat in the morning room the day after her parents' visit going through mail from the previous day. She placed correspondence into piles: one pile—the smallest—for invitations she would accept, one pile—the largest—for regrets, one pile for business correspondence. The last pile was the most interesting to her. She had found she had a knack for investment. Her wealth had quadrupled since her arrival in London, due mainly to her keen instincts. She had retained Sir Stuart Richardson as her business manager who kept her apprised of business opportunities, and she now owned several properties in and around London that provided income. Never one to invest foolishly, Mary did her own research to ensure her financial stability. While many of her contemporaries were invested heavily in the stock market, she preferred to rely on the advice of Josiah Stamp, a friend and one of England's foremost economists, who advised her to put her money into real estate. So far, his advice was paying off.

"Papa would do well to listen to _my_ advice," she thought to herself wryly. Of course, she was glad the Abbey's finances were on solid ground again, but she also knew she could have managed the business affairs as well as, if not better than, her cousin—if she had been given the chance.

It was difficult giving up her dream of one day being Downton's mistress, but as with her other unfulfilled dreams, she had moved on. Now one of London's wealthiest women, Mary created a life for herself beyond what was expected of her. She had overcome scandal, risen above her self-imposed exile, and cultivated a head for business, all thanks (ironically) to Rosamund's generosity.

 _I've moved past the entail debacle, Papa. Don't give it another thought._

After she organized the piles of correspondence, she thumbed through trade reports Josiah had sent to her. It was tedious reading, but she liked to stay informed about economic matters, so she pressed on. Luncheon came and went, and she moved upstairs to her bedroom to rest before dressing for dinner. It occurred to her she had barely said ten words all day. _Not unusual,_ she thought to herself. Just as she stretched out on the chaise longue, she heard the telephone ring, and a few minutes later there was a knock at her bedroom door.

"Yes?"

Her maid Stephens spoke nervously, "Excuse me, milady. There's a gentleman on the line for you."

"Very well, Stephens. Who is it?"

"Matthew Crawley, milady. He says it is very important he speak with you."

"I'll be there in a moment."

For a minute, she was unable to move. They had not spoken since the day she left for London all those years ago.

 _Must you go?_

 _Oh, Matthew. How can you ask that? Of course, I must. There's nothing for me here._

 _You know this is not what I wanted._

 _Really? It seems to me this is exactly what you wanted. Now we both must live with the choice you made._

 _I'll always love you, you know._

 _That is your misfortune, I think. Move on with your life, Matthew. That's what I plan to do._

Steeling herself, she walked to the telephone.

"Hello, Cousin Matthew. What can I do for you?" Her voice was icy.

"Mary, I'm so sorry…your father died…about two hours ago. He had…he apparently had a heart attack."

She sat in stunned silence.

"Mary?"

"Wha…I'm sorry, _what_? I just saw him _yesterday_."

"Robert died this afternoon, Mary. You need to come home."

* * *

Mary barely remembered the rest of the conversation.

" _Oh, my God, Matthew. How is Mama? Is Edith there? Have you spoken with Sybil?"_

" _Your mama seems to be in shock, but Edith is with her. I have spoken with Sybil. She's quite upset. You know…."_

" _Of course, she cannot travel in her condition. Please tell Mama I'll be there as soon as I can. I'll make arrangements and wire you."_

" _Very well. Again, I'm so sorry."_

" _Thank you."_

" _Mar…."_

She hung up the receiver, waited for the tears to come, but there were none. She knew they would come eventually, but right now the shock was too great, and she had too much to do. There were travel plans to make. Packing. Sybil. She had to call Sybil. Upcoming engagements must be canceled. _Oh, God. Papa._ _Dear Papa._ What were his last words to her? What were her last words to him? She remembered being aggravated with him. _Oh, Papa!_

She immediately sprang into action. She rang for Stephens and instructed her to begin packing. She told Mr. Gleason, her butler, to contact the Napiers to cancel her attendance at their dinner party later that week and to handle the regrets for her other upcoming obligations. She telephoned Coco herself to commission mourning clothes to be sent to Downton as soon as possible. She then telephoned Sir Stuart and asked him to postpone her upcoming business meetings and directed him to contact her at the Abbey, if necessary. She held herself together as she spoke with Sybil, assuring her the family would understand that Sybil's health, as well as her child's, precluded her traveling this late in her pregnancy.

She had handled everything. Now it was time to go back to Downton.

She'd get there tomorrow afternoon.

* * *

The train journey to Downton was a blur. As the train approached its destination, she gradually became aware of the familiar landscape. Hedgerows and copses reflected the late afternoon light. The fields and knolls undulated as clouds cast their shadows on the expanse of land. She relaxed against the seat, a faint, reminiscent smile on her face. Nothing seemed to have changed since she left so long ago.

 _Dear Papa_.

 _She saw herself on Diamond, galloping over the grounds, her hair flying and her breathing labored as she returned to the stables and his smile._

 _He always seemed to stand a little taller when he watched her ride._

 _She always wanted to make him proud and loved it when she saw pride in his eyes._

 _How disappointed he must have been with her._

 _He never looked at her the same way again._

Her smile vanished. How would she manage her grief? She knew from experience that her mama would look to her for support. Edith probably would be useless, sobbing and wailing instead of bearing the loss with grace. She wished Sybil could be there—her level-headedness would be such a blessing. No, Mary knew she would have to call on her steely reserve to mask her own pain. She'd done it before. She would be strong for Mama, her sisters, and Granny. Someone had to be.

And Matthew. The new Earl of Grantham. As she tried to recall their conversation, it occurred to her that he had waited two hours to call her. Why the delay? Was he as loathe to see her as she was him? God, the idea of seeing him again caused a familiar edginess to pervade her spirit. How would she feel when she saw him again? _(Lavinia would be at his side, no doubt_. _)_ Mary wanted him to recognize how self-reliant she was. She wanted him to regret that he _could_ have had a life with her if he hadn't been such a coward. She wanted him to want her, and then she wanted to turn her back on him and walk away. She wanted...she wanted… _what_? She wished she could return to Downton and never see him, but she knew that was impossible. What was left of her heart was hardened by the passing of time.

She could do this.


	4. Chapter 4

She took his breath away when she stepped from the train.

 _There hadn't been a day that passed that he didn't think of her._

 _He'd learned to live with pain and recrimination._

 _He'd made his choice and regretted it every day since._

 _Now he had nothing to show for it._

 _How could he have been so blind?_

Dressed in chic ebony traveling clothes, a stylish black cloche covering her bobbed hair, Mary stood out among the other travelers. Elegant. Self-assured. Stunning. And she was the most beautiful woman Matthew had ever seen.

 _Still._

 _Always._

When she emerged from her compartment, she was shocked to see Matthew waiting on the platform, hat in hand. He looked older, his boyish features somewhat transformed into those of a troubled, albeit attractive, man. His eyes still were an intense blue, but they seemed to lack the spark and brilliance she remembered. A wavy lock of hair fell over his forehead, and she felt an urge to push it back from his face. They locked eyes for a moment. She caught her breath and exhaled. Seeing him again was not going to be easy. She steeled herself against familiarity.

"I didn't expect you to meet the train."

 _Don't look at me like that._

"Thompson took your mama and Edith to Grasby's. There was no one else available to come."

 _You've cut your hair._

Mary spotted Stephens with her bags and walked toward her, Matthew following a step behind. Her faint perfume wafted through the air, and he closed his eyes briefly at the memories it evoked. How many times had they been together on this platform? She once kissed his cheek here. The day she left for London, he watched from a distance as she boarded the train and left Downton—left him—never to return. Today he could tell from her stilted demeanor that she was not pleased to see him, so he resisted the desire to talk to her—to take her arm—to touch her.

As they moved down the platform, she sensed his presence behind her, but she didn't slow to walk with him. She passed the spot where they had parted so many years ago and wondered briefly if he still had the small toy dog she'd given him for _such good luck._ Shaking off the memory, she continued to walk purposefully toward her bags, hoping Matthew would not say anything to trigger further memories. She had survived seven years without him, but seeing him again unnerved her. How in the world was she to manage being around him now?

They rode in silence to the Abbey—Matthew driving, Stephens in the front seat next to him, Mary sitting in back. As they pulled up to the Abbey's front entrance, Matthew turned to Mary and said softly, "I'm sorry you've come home to such sadness."

Mary straightened in the seat and looked at the front door where Carson and Barrow were waiting. "I am, too." Barrow handed her out of the motor. She stepped onto the drive and touched Carson's arm briefly. Matthew stood and stared as Mary walked silently through the door.

* * *

"Carson, has Mama returned?"

"No, milady, but we expect her any moment. May I say how very sorry we are about Lord Grantham's passing. It is such a shock to us all."

"Thank you, Carson. It's not going to be easy for any of us."

"Indeed, Milady. May I add that it's good to have you back at Downton despite the circumstances? You've been missed."

"Oh, Carson, I've missed you as well. I hope we'll be able to catch up while I'm here."

Taking a deep breath, Mary looked around the great hall and felt the sadness that pervaded the atmosphere.

"Is there anything you need, milady?"

"No, Carson. Nothing at all. Thank you."

With that, Mary turned to the stairway and headed upstairs.

She was flooded with memories when she entered her old bedroom. Except for the absence of her personal items, nothing had changed. Red walls. Ornate furniture. Fine bedding. Light filtering through the sheer window coverings. Heavy draperies. How different this room was from her bedroom in London with its cool colors and modern décor. This room reflected youthful passion; her room now reflected mature detachment.

 _Her life was changed in this room._

 _When Kemal Pamuk entered this sanctuary of her youth, her life as she knew it was altered forever._

 _How different her life might have been if she hadn't been so foolish._

As Stephens unpacked her cases, Mary sat at her vanity and looked at herself critically in the mirror, remembering the young girl who once was reflected there. _How naïve she was._ Faint lines were visible around her eyes, but her skin was supple and clear. Her face was framed by her chic hairstyle, and her dark eyes still retained a youthful cleverness although today they reflected the sadness she felt in her soul.

She heard voices in the hallway. "Mama?"

"Oh, Mary, Mary. Thank goodness you're here." As she entered the room, tears began to flow from Cora's red-rimmed eyes. They embraced. Mary was shocked at Cora's fragility, and she held her gently as Cora latched on to her as if she could harvest some of Mary's strength. Edith stood in the doorway, unsure whether to enter the room. Mary held out her arms to her, and she moved quickly to join Cora and Mary.

"Oh, Mary! We've lost Papa!" she sobbed. "It's almost too much to bear."

"I know, Edith, but we must carry on. Mama, what do you need me to do?"

* * *

Arrangements were made.

Notices were sent.

The telephone was answered.

Mourning clothes were commissioned.

Accommodations were prepared.

* * *

The funeral would be held in four days, which would give people time enough for travel. The Prince would send an emissary, which ensured everyone would recognize Robert's eminence in aristocratic society. The village church had the honor of holding the service, and the Abbey would receive mourners afterward. A few guests would stay overnight. All funeral details were left to Mary and Carson because Cora was in seclusion, and Edith was practically incapacitated. In the days prior to the service, Matthew met with lawyers and officials, spending much of his time signing papers and making decisions while his stomach churned with the responsibilities he found himself facing. He and Mary passed each other like shadows, neither of them pausing to acknowledge the other.

Edith was quick to tell Mary about Lavinia's departure, attempting to fill her in on the trials and tribulations Matthew faced as he tried to hold his marriage together through the years. As far as Mary was concerned, Edith was passing along gossip, and she wanted no part of it. She was surprised by the news of the divorce, but she refused to open her heart to any possibility of reconciliation with Matthew because it would take more effort than she was willing to expend. She _had_ loved him beyond measure, but because of his marriage to Lavinia, the hurt had festered too long for her to consider the possibility of loving him again. Because she was busy with making funeral arrangements, she managed to avoid him during the day, and during dinner she rebuffed his attempts at conversation and was quick to avert her eyes when she found him staring at her. She maintained her composure in his presence, but when she retired to her room in the evenings, she fought to keep from trembling.

The evening before the funeral, the family gathered in the library after dinner. Quiet discussions about the arrangements were going on among the family members, and Mary found herself sitting on the sofa between Isobel and Violet, who were discussing Lavinia's absence.

"I really expected that she would come to the service, at least," sniffed Violet.

Isobel's response was measured. "I suspect she would find being among all of you quite uncomfortable, given the circumstances. Besides, Robert and she never had a warm relationship."

"Do you suppose she'll change her mind about the divorce now that Matthew has assumed the title?" asked Violet carefully. "She might have an eye to the main chance now."

"Oh, no," replied Isobel confidently. "In her condolence note to Matthew, she made it quite clear she had no interest in pursuing reconciliation."

"Well, that's a relief. Don't you agree, Mary?"

"Frankly, Granny, it's none of my business. I'm sure Lavinia knows her own mind, so I wouldn't hazard a guess as to what her inclination might be." Mary raised an eyebrow and stood to indicate that her part in that particular conversation was at an end. She was headed to the door to retire for the evening when Matthew touched her arm to stop her.

"Please wait a moment before you go up."

He dropped his hand, but Mary still felt his warm touch on her skin.

"And why, pray?"

"I just thought we could talk for a minute." His eyes darkened a bit as she turned to face him.

"Very well. What do you want to talk about?"

 _God, those eyes. I'd forgotten._

"You've taken on so much, I just want to be sure you're all right. Tomorrow will be difficult."

 _Please let me help you through this._

"I'm never down for long, Matthew. You of all people should know that."

 _I don't need your help. Please. Just leave me alone._

"I do, but…."

 _Please don't shut me out._

"I'm fine. Now, I'm very tired, so if you'll excuse me."

 _I can't do this._

"Of course. Rest well then."

 _Damn._

* * *

After the service, most of the mourners had left the Abbey upon paying their respects to the family, but those few who were to lodge at the Abbey that night went to their rooms or milled about the library or drawing room. One of those who remained downstairs was the newly-minted Duke of Benningham, the Prince's emissary. He didn't particularly enjoy small talk and actually had dreaded attending the funeral because of his elderly father's recent death, but he was intrigued with the Abbey's residents so he didn't regret being invited to stay the night.

The Duke noted that the widowed Countess obviously was heartbroken, but he admired her fortitude even as her eyes brimmed with tears throughout the afternoon. She radiated grace and nobility, and he thought to himself _the Earl was a lucky man_. All afternoon he had been distracted by the sobbing of a woman who, he was told, was the late Earl's middle daughter. Her husband seemed unable to comfort her no matter how much attention he paid her, and finally he asked to be excused and took her home. The Dowager ( _or former Dowager now_ , he thought sadly) sat on a settee, stock-still and seemingly lost in thought. He could tell she still was a formidable woman, despite her advanced age, simply because of her demeanor and the way others approached her, and he decided she would be a fascinating woman to get to know.

But to the Duke, the most enthralling person in the room was the late Earl's eldest daughter. He thought the simplicity of her name belied her magnificence. _Mary._ She was a stunning beauty with dark hair and dark eyes that were made even more striking because they were set off by her flawless alabaster skin. Even dressed in black, she was a vision—composed and elegant—and he realized he almost forgot to breathe any time she stirred. He observed her as she moved gracefully around the room accepting condolences, expressing thanks, and engaging in polite conversation. Earlier he had spoken with her briefly to convey his and the Prince's condolences and hoped mightily he would be able to sit with her at dinner. She was alluring. And definitely worth pursuing. Yes, this brief visit might prove to be worthwhile, if complicated, after all.

The Duke also expressed his sympathies to the new Earl and observed how exhausted he appeared. But there was something else he noted about him— his eyes were empty and his demeanor was that of someone weighed down by much more than the loss of his cousin. He was quite solicitous to the needs of the Countess and the Dowager; however, when he approached the dark-haired beauty, she seemed to spurn him. The Duke was curious about the obvious iciness between them. Clearly, they had some history, and he wondered what had caused their seeming estrangement.

Dinner was a subdued affair with quiet conversations going on around the table. The Duke was pleased to be sitting between the Countess and Lady Mary although neither was particularly talkative, which was understandable. Nevertheless, he made an effort to engage Lady Mary in conversation and eventually was able to coax a smile from her when he mentioned his love of riding to hounds.

"It's been years since I've ridden, I'm afraid," said Mary sadly. "I must admit I miss it, but there isn't much opportunity for hunting or even riding in London."

"Well, Northampton isn't too far from London. You'd be welcome to ride there any time. We have some of the most beautiful countryside in England." His face softened as he thought of the land he loved. "You really should see it."

At this statement, Matthew looked up and stared intently at the Duke, his fork poised over his plate. Then his eyes traveled to Mary.

"Thank you, Duke, but I'll be here in Yorkshire at least a month and will have a great deal to catch up on when I return to London. You also realize that my being in mourning precludes much travel, at least for a while."

"Please, call me Geoff. You really should consider at least a day trip to the 'Rose of the Shires' when you return home. Surely, a quick jaunt will not be considered improper." He looked at her steadily. His heart was pounding, a sensation he had not felt in years.

"Perhaps not, Geoff," Mary replied with a slight smile. "We'll see."

Upon hearing her reply, Matthew lost his appetite.


	5. Chapter 5

Geoffrey Wolcott-Jones, the tenth Duke of Benningham, was an impressive man. Mary couldn't help noticing how his black, wavy hair contrasted with his muted grey eyes. He wore his hair somewhat longer than the current style and a few errant strands of silver stood out among the thick waves. Although he wouldn't necessarily be described as handsome, there was something about him—an uncompromising masculinity, a strength—that gave her pause. Tall and muscular, he exuded confidence and looked as if he would be as comfortable in a shirt and trousers as he obviously was in formal dress. He had the complexion of an outdoorsman, yet his hands were well-manicured and strong with long fingers and soft palms. But there was something else, something dark and brooding in his expression when he thought no one was looking, that caught Mary's eye. Few men in London had piqued her interest the way this man did.

The ladies and gentlemen went through together after dinner, and she found herself in a corner of the room talking with him about all sorts of things. An attentive listener, he drew her out on topics that ranged from horses to real estate investments to literature. He was fascinated by her knowledge of so many diverse subjects; she was charmed by his obvious appreciation of her opinions. As they spoke, it struck him that she was a woman unhesitant to demonstrate her intelligence, and he sensed any effort he made to get to know her better would be worth it. So focused were they on their conversation that they were unaware they were being observed by others in the room. Violet raised her eyebrow to Cora, and Cora furrowed hers in return. They both lamented that Mary seemed content with her single life in London and hoped her obvious interest in this tall, distinguished duke might be just the thing to send her down a different path.

Matthew, too, noticed their tête-à-tête with more than a little consternation. He had yet to exchange more than a few words with Mary since her arrival, so her obvious interest in this stranger, _this_ _duke_ , was almost more than he could bear. _Just who was this man?_ He knew from conversations with Cora and Violet through the years that Mary had rejected many suitors. The ladies were convinced that the right man had not yet come along and that eventually she would succumb. (Mary definitely would disagree with their conclusion!) Her presence at the Abbey after so long rekindled a desire in Matthew so intense he practically quaked every time he was near her. To see her talking with this interloper who made her smile on such a sad day caused his heart to batter his chest. He poured himself another brandy and watched them closely.

* * *

After everyone retired for the evening—early, because of the stress of the day—Mary lay in her bed, her mind swirling. She couldn't believe her father was dead. Although she hadn't seen him often in the last few years, he always had been such a dominant presence in her life his absence was almost unendurable. She knew he had loved her, but she also knew he never had understood her. Her independence had been a constant source of concern for him. Try as she might, she never had convinced him of her self-reliance. As far as she knew, he never recognized that she had the intelligence and skill to manage her own affairs, much less the estate's. If she had been his son, she had no doubt he would have been proud of her abilities, but because she was a woman, he had relegated her to second-class status, which would be a source of pain for the rest of her life. She cried at his loss, but she also cried because he never would know just how capable she was.

She also thought about how things would change at Downton. Imagining the Abbey without the presence of her mama and papa was beyond her, yet soon it would be a reality. In fact, for the first time in generations, no one who had grown up there would be living in the house six months from now. Mama could move to Grantham House in London, a choice about which Mary was ambivalent; she could live with Granny in the Dower House, which no doubt would result in the demise of one or both of them, she thought with a smile; or she could choose to move into Crawley House, should Isobel elect to live with Matthew at the Abbey. No matter her mama's decision, her immediate family's chapter at the Abbey was almost at an end, and that made her terribly sad. By all rights, _she_ should be the one to continue her family's presence at Downton, but the entail—and a marriage that wrecked her future—ended all hope of that.

Her mind then turned to Matthew, as it did sometimes late at night when sleeplessness prevailed. He was as handsome as ever although her papa's death and the stress that went along with it had taken its toll. He _did_ look older, but his maturity only made him more attractive. She felt a familiar stirring— _Stop it!_ she told herself. _Don't go down that road_. She wondered whether he missed Lavinia. She'd been too busy making arrangements and dealing with Mama to pay him much attention, but she was sure Lavinia's absence was awkward for him. She was determined not to allow his presence—or his divorce—affect her. If she truly were honest with herself, her heartbreak had turned to simmering anger years ago, but she had worked mightily to get past having any kind of feelings for him. Being back at Downton wouldn't change that if she could help it.

Frustrated that she was unable to sleep, Mary decided to go downstairs to the library to pour herself a small glass of brandy, thinking it might help her relax. She enjoyed an occasional glass at home in London although she was sure it would be frowned upon here. Nevertheless, she wrapped herself in her dressing gown, donned her slippers, and stepped into the corridor. Even without a light, she could have found her way to the library so great was her sense memory. Ghosts of remembrance flitted about as she made her way down the stairs.

 _There is where I ran to hug Papa when he returned from a trip to the Continent._

 _There is where Sybil, Edith, and I laughed uproariously at Granny's new hat._

 _There is the spot where Mama told me the name of the first suitor to send me flowers._

 _There is where Matthew took me in his arms, and we danced._

Brushing away a tear that had slipped down her cheek, she opened the library door and entered the room.

There, slumped in her papa's chair, a snifter of brandy in his hand, sat Matthew.

* * *

"Ah," Matthew said coldly, "here for a midnight rendezvous with the Duke, are you?"

Mary stiffened, her eyes flashing. "I don't know what you mean. How dare you say such a thing?" She turned to leave, stunned by his callousness.

"Well, you certainly did nothing to discourage his attention," he snapped.

She wheeled around and faced him, her anger evident in her voice. "And who are you to judge _what_ I do?"

Realizing he had blurted out something that was in his mind, not in his heart, he stood quickly. "Clearly, I spoke without thinking. I apologize, Mary. Truly." His distressed expression confirmed his sincerity.

"Very well, Cousin Matthew. I've come here for a brandy, nothing else. I had my last midnight tryst long ago, as, no doubt, you recall." Her icy retort forced him back into the chair.

She walked to the bar, poured two fingers of brandy into a glass, took a sip, and turned to face him. Her expression was impassive, but her pulse was racing. Here was a confrontation she had wanted to avoid. She did not want the emotions she had suppressed for so long to rise to the surface.

"Today was a difficult day," he said softly.

"Yes…yes, it was." Memories of laughter, conflicts, and family enveloped her as she looked around the room. She had walked away, gladly, from all of it—from this room, from this house, from him—so long ago. Lost in thought, she barely heard his next utterance.

"I've missed you."

She regarded him coldly. "Don't. Just don't." She wanted to run from the room.

He finished his brandy, stood unsteadily, and approached her. "I have to say this, Mary. Please. I've made so many mistakes I never can make up for. I've lived with regret so long. Please. _Please_." He clasped her hand and looked at her desperately, his azure eyes swimming in tears. "I love you. I've always loved you. If I could go back, I'd change everything. I know why you refused me. I know that you loved me. God, I was so stupid."

Unwilling to relent, Mary tried to pull her hand away, but he held it tight as she replied resolutely, "Yes…I loved you, Matthew, but when you married Lavinia, it didn't matter anymore." She paused and took a breath. "But that was a long time ago. What's past is past. We can't go back." She was desperate to get out of that room, out of that house, back to London and to the cocoon of her life there.

"Mary, I'll do anything to make up for the hurt I've caused you. Tell me what I can do to gain your forgiveness."

"There's nothing…nothing at all." She faltered momentarily in the face of his despair, and then braced herself. "I forgive you, all right? I forgive you, but I never can forget. I've had to live with the memory of your choice—of us—for years now, and I've managed to make a life for myself without you. There's so much damage I don't think we ever can repair what happened."

"Oh, Mary, I'm so, so sorry I broke your heart." He let go of her hand and looked at her despondently. "Do you know how sorry I am?"

She smiled tightly, kissed his cheek gently, and looked at him. "Matthew, don't be silly. I never had a heart to break."

With that, she turned from him and strode out of the library, still feeling his soft cheek and tasting his tears.


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks to everyone for such lovely reviews. I'm having the best time writing this and find myself unable to delay posting new chapters. I'm up to Ch. 14, so there's a lot more in store for Mary, Matthew, et. al._

* * *

The next morning after breakfast, the Abbey's guests began to take their leave of the family. Motors lined up outside as visitors repeated their condolences and departed, the automobiles crunching on the gravel as they drove away and their occupants breathing sighs of relief that they had done their duty to the family of a fine man. Cora, Mary, and Matthew stood stiffly with the staff as each guest left, thankful that yet another task was at an end.

When the Duke of Benningham was about to make his departure, he asked to speak to Mary privately for a moment. She nodded, stepping aside to talk with him apart from the others. As she moved away, Matthew's jaw clenched visibly.

"Thank you so much for coming," she said politely. "Please express our appreciation to the Prince for sending you."

"I'm charmed to have met you. I'm only sorry it was under such sad circumstances. Judging from what I've seen and heard, your father was an admirable man."

"He was indeed."

"Now, please listen carefully. I do want you to visit Northampton, soon if it suits you."

"That's very kind, Geoff, but…."

"I don't issue invitations as a rule. In fact, I prefer to keep to myself most of the time, but I find myself wanting to share the beauty of the shire with you. Somehow, I feel you would understand its importance to me." He looked at her intently, his grey eyes expressing something they hadn't in quite a long time. Then he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I plan to hound you until you give in."

Mary laughed softly, "I suspect you're not used to being rejected."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I just know what I want, and I'm hopeful, this time, I'll get it. Please say you'll come, if only for a day."

Sensing she was facing something that might greatly affect her life, Mary hesitated and then said, "I'll think about it, but it would be a while before I could come. You might change your mind." She smiled demurely.

"You should have no fear of that happening. Rest assured, I will keep in touch in the meantime." He took her hand and kissed it, his lips lingering a little longer than was proper. "Now, I must be off."

They returned to the group, and he took Cora's hand. "Thank you for allowing me to stay, Countess. I'm just sorry to have met you under such unhappy circumstances. I wish you great comfort in the days to come."

"Thank you, Duke. It _has_ been a difficult time, but I'm pleased to have met you."

The Duke turned to Matthew. "Sir, I know something of taking on a mantle sooner than expected. I wish you good fortune in the future. You've inherited a great estate and will find managing it a challenging task, but I'm sure you'll be an excellent steward as soon as you realize that letting loose of the past is the key to moving forward."

"Thank you, Duke. I'll certainly do my best to protect the things I value most."

Matthew and Geoff eyed each other carefully, both of them aware of what the other was thinking.

With that, Geoff looked intently at Mary, entered his motor, and drove away, leaving behind three pensive people who knew their lives never would be the same.

* * *

As the days passed, life at the Abbey resumed although no one would say it had returned to normal. Robert's death had changed things, but those who remained attempted to move on. Lawyers came and went, meeting with the family to disperse the settlements and to confirm the transfer of the title to Matthew. Carson and Mrs. Hughes continued to run a tight ship, ensuring the house ran like clockwork. Edith managed to get her tears under control and came by often with her children to provide some solace to Cora, who clung to them, grateful for the distraction.

Matthew was thankful that he and Robert had spent a great deal of time together talking about the Earl's responsibilities—not only to the estate but also to the village—because his new role consisted of a number of daunting obligations. There were committees to meet with and feuds to settle, tenants to appease and merchants to placate—all of these duties were required in addition to running a thriving estate. He wondered if there were enough hours in the day to handle everything he faced. During one particularly trying afternoon a few days after the funeral, he looked up from some problematic paperwork as Violet walked into the room. He was surprised to see her at the Abbey because she had not left the Dower House since Robert's funeral. He stood as she entered.

"May I come in? I don't want to disturb you."

"Of course, you're welcome any time."

"That's good because we need to talk. May I sit here?" She pointed her cane at a wingback chair across from his desk.

"Please." He went to her side to help her settle into the chair. He then moved back behind the desk and looked at her expectantly.

"Now, I'll come right to the point. You cannot manage the running of this estate alone. You may not realize it, but Cora provided Robert with a great deal of support through the years. It pains me to admit it, but she was a capable countess who enabled him to shoulder the responsibilities with relative ease. My late husband was not much of a teacher—I suppose he believed he'd live forever, silly man—so Robert had to learn the job mostly on his own. Cora reduced the burden and gave him the confidence to do his job well. You will need that kind of support."

"Violet, I appreciate what you're trying to say, but Lavinia and I _will_ divorce, so I'll have to manage on my own for the foreseeable future." Matthew was slightly annoyed. He didn't want to revisit the divorce topic.

"I'm not speaking of Lavinia," she sniffed. "She lacks the stamina and temperament to handle such a role. No, I'm speaking of Mary. Don't tell me for one moment you don't realize that she was destined to be by your side as the Countess of Grantham." She stared at him intently, daring him to contradict her.

Matthew fidgeted uncomfortably and made no reply.

"So, what are you going to do about it?"

Matthew leaned forward and spoke earnestly, "Violet, we had a similar conversation many years ago, and I was a fool not to listen to you then; however, things are different now. Mary doesn't want to have anything to do with me. She's made that clear. I don't blame her. My stupidity and cowardice destroyed our chance at happiness."

"I see. You're just going to give up." It was a statement, not a question.

"What else can I do?" Matthew spoke with desperation. "Any love she ever felt for me disappeared years ago. She's moved on with her life. I ruined everything when I married Lavinia."

"Let me tell you something, my boy, Mary is a woman of many parts. She's stubborn and intractable. But, she also believes in love. I should know; she's just like me. Getting her to admit she's wrong about something is difficult but not impossible. There's been no one in her life since you. Why do you think she's lived alone all these years? I'm not saying it will be easy." Her voice softened. "Yes, you hurt her. I've never seen anyone as despondent as Mary was after your wedding. I quite worried for her sanity, truth be known. You'll have to woo her mightily to get her back, but it _can_ be done. Are you willing to try?"

"Of course I am if you think it will do any good."

"Just understand that it will take much patience on your part. Rome wasn't built in a day, you know. The Duke will be a formidable opponent."

Matthew looked at Violet in stunned surprise. He was unable to respond.

Violet smiled tightly. "Yes, I noticed his attentions to her and her response to him. She is attracted to him, and he looks to be a man who doesn't hesitate to go after what he wants. But you have an advantage, my dear."

"I do? And what might that be?"

"You complete each other. You always have. Neither of you will be happy with anyone else as long as the other walks the earth."

* * *

When she wasn't seeing to her mama's needs or overseeing the running of the house in her stead, Mary spent parts of her days walking the Abbey's grounds or riding her beloved Diamond, enjoying the pleasures being outdoors afforded. She didn't realize how much she had missed the expanse of the estate's lush grounds and the clear, clean air. How beautiful it was. One afternoon, looking back at the house from the bench she had sat on since she was a child, memories came rushing back as the Lebanon cedar's leaves rustled in the breeze. Of course, she didn't realize it at the time, but she knew now her childhood was idyllic—days spent riding, chasing her sisters, exploring trails, and picnicking on the lawn. Now that the settlements had been assigned, she realized with a pang that the house and the grounds—in fact, everything concerning the estate—were lost to her. She hardly ever thought of the entail anymore, but how different things would have been if her papa had been willing to fight for her!

 _I won't cry about this_.

 _I've moved on, and my life is perfectly fine._

 _I was lucky to grow up here._

 _It made me who I am._

She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the day envelop her. Even her papa's death could not erase the love she had for this place. While she enjoyed London, there were times when she longed for the peacefulness of Yorkshire. She thought of Sybil. She had spoken to her twice since their papa's funeral and promised she would try to visit soon to meet her new nephew. Sybil was flourishing in Ireland, she could tell, and she missed their late-night chats. _What would Sybil make of Matthew?_ she wondered. _Or the Duke, for that matter?_ Her mind began to wander. The confrontation with Matthew still bothered her. He obviously had drunk too much brandy that night and had let his emotions run away with him. She hadn't spoken with him since, which was for the best. She had returned to her room, upset by his declaration of love, and had cried herself to sleep. She thought herself weak for doing so, and she resolved not to let it happen again. How could she possibly trust him after the torment he put her through seven years ago? He said he loved her then, yet he turned his back on her. She couldn't, she wouldn't, take the risk. Besides, her feelings were a jumbled mess as it was. She simply didn't trust herself with Matthew. She had spent seven years suppressing her love for him, but seeing him again brought back the longing she thought she was immune to. She was better off in London, away from the turmoil that surrounded her in Downton. She didn't like how it affected her. Besides, there was the Duke….

Ah, yes, the Duke—Geoff—whose penetrating grey eyes looked at her with such intensity. She shivered a little thinking of him. She couldn't remember anyone ever looking at her quite that way, and she wondered how it would feel to be held in Geoff's arms. She wouldn't call him handsome, but he had such magnetism it was all she could do to keep from…. _Wait! What was she thinking?_ She had given up all hope of having any sort of romantic relationship with anyone. Just the thought made her uneasy. Still, his keen mind and interest in her opinions added to his attractiveness. Well, she would return to London and see if he contacted her.

 _Getting back to London would allow her to think more clearly._

 _There were too many distractions here._

 _There just was something about Downton that made her crazy._


	7. Chapter 7

From the large window next to his desk one sunny afternoon, Matthew could see Mary sitting on what he considered _their_ bench. That morning he had overheard her on the telephone talking with someone who, he assumed, was an advisor of some sort. He didn't intend to eavesdrop, but he couldn't help listening as she asked questions about or commented on her business affairs. _How knowledgeable she sounded—how professional._ Robert had mentioned to him that she was quite a successful businesswoman. If this conversation were any indication, Robert was right. She was masterful. She really _had_ managed to fashion a successful life for herself. London seemed to have allowed her to hone her intellect, and he found himself imagining what a formidable team they could make managing Downton's affairs.

He was embarrassed when he remembered the night of Robert's funeral, a night on which admittedly he had drunk one too many brandies and couldn't help expressing his love for her. He saw the hurt in her eyes and knew he was the cause. After his talk with Violet, he resolved to try to woo Mary gently, but he knew he would do anything, _anything,_ to win her back. At dinner he inquired her about her life in London and listened attentively as she described her various interests, and at luncheon he asked her opinions about estate business and took mental notes as she offered what he considered valuable advice. She did not shrink from these encounters, which gave him hope that she had forgiven him for his rash behavior. He made a point of speaking to her whenever he saw her and tried to avoid any topic that would put her off. He loved her but knew he must dial back his desperation in order not to make her skittish. He slipped on his coat and walked out the door and onto the grounds to talk with her.

She had been reading but obviously had dropped off to sleep because the book was face down in her lap, and her head was perched on her arm, which was resting gracefully on the back of the bench. He sat gingerly on the opposite end of the bench and looked at her. At rest, she looked like the young girl he met in 1914—her ebony lashes brushed the tops of her cheeks and her lips were slightly parted. _How could he ever have let her get away?_ Her short chestnut hair was dappled with golden highlights from the fragments of light that shone through the tree branches, and it occurred to him that he always had wondered what she would look like with her hair down. He had imagined it cascading over her bare shoulders and down her naked back, a dark torrent in which he could lose himself. Now he would never realize that vision, which elicited from him yet another pang of regret. Still, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And he loved her so. He stared at her for several minutes until she stirred, stretching her limbs and raising her head. For a moment, just a moment, she looked at him warmly, but that look was replaced quickly with one of detachment.

"What do you want?" Her tone reflected the look on her face.

Her manner did not deter him. "I just hoped we could sit and talk a bit. It's such a lovely day, and I have had my fill of paperwork." He looked toward the house, then back at her. "You looked as if you were enjoying your afternoon."

"I _was_ enjoying the quiet. I don't often have days like this in London."

"I suppose you stay very busy."

"Most days, I suppose. There always seems to be something to take care of. You know, investments and such." She clearly found this conversation awkward.

Hoping to put her at ease, he said casually, "Robert told me you were quite the businesswoman; he once said that you were some sort of investing genius." He smiled at the memory.

She sat back against the bench. "Really? Papa told you that I was _a genius_? He never shared that opinion with me." She laughed wryly, amazed to know her father even was aware of her abilities. She would have liked to have known that.

 _How typical of Papa to say that to Matthew and not to me._

"Truly, he was very proud of how successful you are, so I'm surprised he never told you. He often said he wished you were around to advise us. That you really had a good head for business. He also told me once he missed having you around to argue with. I remember telling him I definitely agreed with _that_ sentiment." He chuckled and looked down at his hands, then back at her.

Mary's eyes filled with tears, and she said softly, "I wish he had told me. It would have meant so much to hear that although I'm certain I would have accused him of patronizing me."

"Well, you know how he was. A typical Englishman through and through. But I know he was very proud of you. He just wasn't very good at expressing sentiment or handing out compliments."

Mary laughed, genuinely this time, and wiped her eyes. "That's very true. Thank you for telling me, Matthew." She paused and looked across the grounds. Tears formed in her eyes again. "It's hard to believe he's gone. I do miss him so very much."

"I do, too. I fear there's no way I can begin to take his place. There's just so much to deal with. I don't know how he managed." He slumped forward, his elbows on his knees, and shook his head.

Once again, Mary noticed that errant lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead. Her hands tightly grasped the book in her lap. "Oh, but he had confidence in you, Matthew. He was forever praising your abilities, especially when it came to overseeing the estate's business."

"I suppose that's something you and I have in common." He added quickly, "That is…business sense, I mean."

They sat quietly for a minute, then Matthew asked, "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Why did you cut your hair?"

Startled by the question, Mary asked, "Why do you ask?"

 _I can't believe you asked me that._

"Oh, I don't know. I suppose I just was surprised to see you with short hair. I remember you so differently."

 _You were all I ever dreamed of._

"I see. Well, I happened to like the new styles, and cutting one's hair was the latest fashion, so…."

"You never struck me as the type to follow fads."

She looked at him fixedly for a moment. "You're right." She smiled a little too brightly. "The simple answer is I suppose I needed a change. New home, new life, that sort of thing. One night, right after I moved into Painswick House, I was sitting at my vanity mirror and just took the scissors to it."

Her face fell at the memory. Her first days in Painswick House were painful ones, and she didn't like being reminded of them. Regretfully, Matthew realized he was the direct cause of her need for change. The irony did not escape him: one of the very things he had fantasized about was lost to him forever because of his folly.

"I must say it's very becoming. It suits you. Not everyone can wear that style, but, then, you would look beautiful no matter what style you chose." He gently moved a loose strand behind her ear.

Mary shivered slightly, straightened her shoulders, and stood. _It was time to end this conversation._ "Well, I really must go in. I need to go over this week's menus with Mrs. Patmore." She then added, "Thank you again for telling me about Papa."

"It was my pleasure. You deserve to know how proud he was of you. I'll see you at dinner."

His eyes followed her as she walked toward the house.

 _Well, it was a start._

* * *

Upon entering the house, she was approached by Carson.

"Excuse me, milady. The afternoon post has arrived."

"Thank you, Carson. How are things downstairs?"

"As well as can be expected, milady. Everyone is carrying on."

"You've managed everything beautifully. I've been remiss in not thanking you."

"Give it no mind, milady. You're the one who has managed things and done a fine job, I must say." His eyes softened, as they always did when he looked at her.

"Oh, Carson, I always have been able to count on you to boost my spirits. I've missed our talks."

"Well, milady, my door always will be open to you."

"I know and I thank you. I promise to make time for you soon."

She retrieved the letters from the silver tray, grasped Carson's arm for a moment, and walked to the library.

Most of the correspondence was for Matthew or her mama, but one piece was addressed to her. She sat on the sofa, opened the envelope, and was surprised to find a note written on the Duke's personal stationery.

 ** _My dear Lady Mary,_**

 ** _As I mentioned to you upon my departure, I intend to hound you until you agree to visit Northampton. Consider this my first attempt._**

 ** _As it now is April, I would think a trip in August would be appropriate as you would be back in London and easily could travel round trip in a day. The shire is especially beautiful in late summer and escorting you around the countryside would be my pleasure._**

 ** _I must travel to London on business in June. With your permission, I will call on you._**

 ** _Faithfully yours,_**

 ** _Geoff_**

Mary's hands dropped into her lap, and if she were ten years younger, she would have blushed. As it was, she read the note again and thought to herself _He certainly didn't waste any time_. She recalled his piercing grey eyes and imagined him on horseback, racing with her over the Northamptonshire countryside, his black hair tousled by the wind. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she walked over to the desk, sat down, and began to write.

 ** _Dear Geoff, —_**


	8. Chapter 8

_I've changed the rating to "M," not necessarily because of this chapter but in anticipation of future chapters. (Not to worry, smut will not take the place of plot.) Again, I want to thank all of you for your kind words about this story._

* * *

Mary sat in the parlor of the Dower House, sipping tea and talking with her granny. She had made a point of visiting with her often while she was in Downton because she knew one day, perhaps soon given Granny's advanced age, she'd no longer have the opportunity. Violet always had been a treasure trove of advice and opinions and stories. Mary could count on her to offer solutions to problems although she didn't always take her advice.

They were discussing Cora's plans for visiting America, which had delayed her decision about where she would live once she moved from the Abbey.

"Cora never has been one to face facts," stated Violet firmly. "She sometimes is no better than an ostrich, sticking her head in the sand rather than dealing with reality."

"Hmm. She also has her head in the clouds at times," retorted Mary, remembering the many times when her mama ignored reality—Cora's interest in Mary's marriage prospects came to mind—and imagined things beyond the realm of possibility.

"Well, the trip will do her good. Perhaps she'll have made a decision when she returns."

"I certainly hope so." Mary gazed pensively out the window.

"What about you?"

"What _about_ me? I'm going back to London next week with Mama so she can stay at Painswick House the night before her trip. There's certainly no point in my staying here any longer."

Granny raised a brow. "Isn't there?"

"Oh, Granny. What are you implying? That's been over for years. Finished."

"Are you sure? It doesn't have to be, you know."

"Perhaps not for Matthew, but I have no intention of getting involved with him again. _I can't!_ Don't you see? When he married Lavinia, I wanted to die. I've managed to put it behind me, but it _still_ hurts, Granny. Seeing him again has been so painful."

"Mary, you've built a wall around your feelings for Matthew to keep from getting hurt again, but you can't live the rest of your life sheltered from the world. How can you possibly be happy living alone in London in that large house?"

"You live alone, and it doesn't seem to bother you."

"Yes, but I've had my happiness, my dear. Now I have my memories. Can you honestly say you'll be content for the rest of your life knowing how much Matthew loves you but never doing anything about it?"

"He had his chance to prove he loved me, but his marrying Lavinia nearly destroyed me. I won't risk feeling that way again, Granny."

"My, dear, I understand how you must feel, but I believe he regrets every single day of his marriage. I don't believe he ever would have agreed to the divorce otherwise. Isobel and I agree for once. It's obvious he loves you; we believe he always has—frankly, I never have seen anyone more in love in my life, discounting your dear grandpapa, of course."

"Wait. You and Isobel were discussing Matthew and me? Honestly, Granny."

"Isobel has her moments. I suppose we have a tenuous sort of friendship—as long as she continues to agree with my point of view."

"Well, now I've seen everything."

"Don't change the subject. Matthew loves you, and if you weren't so stubborn, you would admit you love him. My dear child, my greatest wish is for you to be happy. I believe Matthew could be the source of that happiness."

I'm sorry, Granny. I just can't let myself believe that's possible. I will not help assuage his guilt. Even if I still love him, it's too late. I've moved on, and he must, too. Besides, I'm not completely insusceptible…."

"You mean the Duke?" Up went the eyebrow again.

"You see a lot, don't you?" Mary smiled wryly. "He's written to me here and plans to come to London in June. He wants me to visit Northampton in August, and I've accepted his invitation."

"You don't know anything about him," Violet replied haughtily.

"What is there to know? I like him, Granny; it isn't as if I'm planning to marry him," Mary said drolly. "I'm just going to spend some time with him. Besides, I should think you would be thrilled that a duke has shown an interest in me." She tilted her head slightly and raised a brow every bit as high as Violet had raised hers.

"Humph. Very well, Mary. You certainly seem to know your own mind. I just hope you know what you're doing. Now, what's the latest with our dear Sybil?"

As Mary told Violet about her new great-grandson, Violet thought to herself, _There's a chink in the armor, but Matthew still has work to do._

* * *

On Mary's last night at the Abbey before her return to London, she gathered the books she had borrowed from the library to return them to the shelves. As she passed the portraits in the gallery, she recalled Matthew's telling her about commissioning portraits of her papa and mama. They would be hung as part of a small ceremony to be held when they were completed, probably at the first of the year. He asked her to come. She said she would think about it.

As she was placing the books on the shelves, her mind was preoccupied with her upcoming trip, so she didn't notice when Matthew entered the room. He stood for a moment, watched her intently, and then spoke.

"I see you're finishing some chores."

"Oh! You made me jump. Yes, these needed to be returned, so I thought I'd do it while Stephens finishes packing. I didn't want to be accused of stealing." Her smile reflected the humorous intent of her retort.

"That's one thing I'd never accuse you of. You know you're welcome to anything in the house."

"Well, that's as maybe, but I always return books to Papa's…I mean…um…to the library." She turned back to the shelf and put the final book in its place.

When she turned, she discovered Matthew standing in front of her, blocking her way.

"What do you think you are doing?" Her heart began to race.

 _Have his eyes always been such an intense blue?_

"Mary, I've had nothing to drink, so what I'm about to say comes straight from my heart. I don't want you to leave. I don't want to lose you again." His eyes bored into hers, and she found herself almost tongue-tied with surprise.

"Matthew, it's…it's no use. I have a life in London I must return to. As I told you once, there's nothing for me here." She stared back into his eyes and saw her own reflected there.

He stepped closer and put his hands on her upper arms. " _I'm_ here." With that he leaned in and kissed her gently.

She placed her hands on his chest and broke the kiss. "Please, Matthew, don't. I won't…I can't…do this." She suddenly became aware that she could feel his heart pounding under her hands.

"Mary, I love you. I'll never stop loving you. Your leaving won't change that. I know I hurt you. I can't change that, either, but I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you if you'll let me."

Her resistance fading, she leaned into him, her hands still on his chest. He took her chin in one hand, raised her face to his, and saw tears pooled in her eyes. _God, how he loved her._ His arms enfolded her, and he pushed her gently against the shelves. He took her face in his hands and pulled her lower lip into his mouth and sucked on it tenderly until he heard a moan come from the back of her throat. Their lips came together, their mouths opened, and the gulf between them seemed to disappear. _He had waited to kiss her like this for so long!_ As Mary snaked her arms around his neck, his hands went to her hips, and he pulled her against him until they were pressed completely together. Her body arched into his, and she could feel that he wanted her. Her desire, as well, rushed through her like a torrent. "Mary," he sighed against her as his heated kisses moved from her jaw to her neck and back to her mouth. _How often had she imagined a moment like this?_ Her hands moved down his back as their kiss deepened; his hands moved up her body from her hips to the sides of her breasts. When Matthew brushed her erect nipples with his thumbs, she felt a shiver move through her body, and he began to place soft, open-mouthed kisses to her neck, eliciting yet another moan from her. He murmured her name repeatedly as she tilted her head back to allow his mouth to move down her neck to the vee of her blouse. She stroked his rippling back muscles, and her hands pulled him closer. She felt all the passion and desire she'd hidden away come to the fore as his hands caressed her trembling body. Unexpectedly, her defenses down, she realized she loved him despite everything that had occurred between them, but… _No!_ _she couldn't let this happen. Not now. Not here where she was so vulnerable._

"Matthew, we need to stop," she gasped, as she brushed that wayward lock of hair off his forehead and looked into his eyes. He continued to hold her close. "I can't do this. I can't allow what was about to happen, happen. Please, listen to me."

His head dropped to her shoulder. "God, Mary, I want you so much. It's all I dreamed of for so long."

"Oh, Matthew, it's not the right time or place. I wouldn't be able to leave if we were to…."

"Then don't leave! Stay with me. _Please!_ " He caressed her face with his hands, the pain of her words written on his face.

"I can't. I have to go back to London—back to _me_. I have to sort things out, don't you see? I've resisted loving you for so long…I can't just jump back into your arms and forget about everything that's happened between us. I'm sorry, I just _can't_."

"And I can't lose you again," he implored. "Tell me what I need to do, and I'll do it."

She took his hand and said, "Just give me time to think. I didn't expect or want this, so London is the best place for me right now."

"Very well, my darling. Just know that I'll be patient and wait as long as you need me to. Never doubt for a minute, though, that I love you. We belong together, Mary. I think you feel this way, too."

He raised her hand to his lips as she cupped his cheek with her other hand. Then she turned and walked out of the room and up the stairs, leaving Matthew to stare forlornly after her.


	9. Chapter 9

_Your reviews and comments have been so gratifying. It's fun to read your speculations and suggestions, and I appreciate all of them. (No, the Duke is_ _ **not**_ _Richard reincarnated!) As I've said before, there's a long way to go, so I hope you'll stick with me. And, thanks again._

* * *

As soon as Mary arrived in London, she settled back into her normal routine. There was a great deal of correspondence to catch up on and meetings with business associates to reschedule. She was inundated with invitations to private dinners and society events, but she declined those, using the excuse of her father's death. She knew the rules for mourning had relaxed since the war, but she needed time to herself. She had to sort out her feelings about Matthew without Downton's distraction. The realization that she loved him was a complication. Long ago, she had resigned herself to living out the rest of her life alone in London. Now she was dealing with the attentions of two men who could not be more different. Could she possibly consider letting Matthew into her life again? Was Geoff someone who had the potential to make her forget about Matthew? Being back in London did provide a familiarity, a comfort, which she lacked at Downton. She hoped it would give her some valuable perspective.

That last night in Downton left her shaken. She returned to her room knowing full well how close she came to giving herself to Matthew completely. He awoke passion in her that had been lying dormant for years, and as she lay in her bed that night, the memory of his hands on her body and her throbbing desire made her tremble. She remembered being determined to resist him, to protect what was left of her heart. _What changed?_ Yes, he was going to be divorced, which would leave him free to marry, but she couldn't think about that. He said he loved her, but what if he only loved the _memory_ of her? She wasn't the same person he had abandoned so long ago. His marriage to Lavinia turned Mary into a woman determined not to wallow in despair. She had created a new life for herself—free of the constraints marriage would place on her and free of the chance for heartbreak. Yet…. She barely slept.

Matthew, too, had a sleepless night after his encounter with Mary in the library. Holding her in his arms had been a dream for so long, he could hardly believe what had happened was real. In his seven-year marriage to Lavinia, he never had felt the kind of passion he'd felt with Mary for those few minutes. That definitely gave him pause. He remembered telling himself that his life with Lavinia would provide him with comfort and ease. For a time it did, but her lack of intensity and his mere complacency helped destroy any future they might have had. How different Mary's passionate response to his embrace was from Lavinia's staid lovemaking. He recalled Mary's caresses, her moans, her ardent kisses, and he so regretted what he had allowed to slip away all those years ago. After she left him to go upstairs, Matthew remained in the library and pondered the future. She was leaving for London the next day, and he had responsibilities at Downton. Managing to see her again soon would be difficult, but he resolved to find a way.

As she and her mama prepared to board the train that next morning, Mary managed to thwart Matthew's attempt to kiss her goodbye by turning her head so that his lips brushed her cheek. His stiff smile and tacit acceptance of her action caused her chest to tighten, and she moved quickly onto the train. When it began to pull from the station, they locked eyes, each remembering the previous night's encounter—he with longing, she with uncertainty. There were many reasons for her to be sad about leaving Downton, yet the farther from it she traveled, the more relaxed she became until, finally, her arrival in London made her feel as if she finally could breathe again.

* * *

Days later, in the sanctuary of her bedroom, her sense memory still taunted her:

 _she remembered the spice of his skin as her mouth moved across his neck_

 _she remembered the strength of his body and his desire as he held her in his arms_

 _she remembered their moans of longing as each responded to the other's caresses_

 _she remembered the love and intensity in his vibrant blue eyes_

As she lay alone in the expanse of her bed, memories of Matthew's touch and her arousal generated in her a kind of heat she had not felt for ages. She reached under the covers and ran her hands over her body, attempting to recreate the sensations he produced. Through the silk of her nightgown, she felt her nipples peak and her skin ripple as she caressed herself. Lifting her hips and raising the gown to her waist, she moved her hand between her legs, felt the wetness there, and began to stroke herself gently. Her legs parted, and she imagined Matthew's touch as she directed her slick lubricant to that sensitive spot that always provided immeasurable pleasure, circling and pressing it harder and harder as her breath began to catch. In her mind she saw his eyes, hooded and dark, looming over her. She threw off the covers and lay open to the night air as her other hand raised her gown higher to expose her breasts, which she massaged gently. Her hips moved rhythmically as she continued to stroke herself, her body writhing as she envisioned first his hand, then his mouth, between her legs. As her fantasy continued, suddenly the eyes she imagined changed from blue to grey, and she pictured herself lying open to the ministrations of another lover, one whose strong hands pressed into her center and created even more desire within her. Heat began in her belly and moved throughout her body. Suddenly, she felt a pulsation that moved from between her legs outward. Her body rocked and jerked, and she moaned and arched as she rode her powerful climax to a shuddering conclusion. She lay still for a moment. Breathing deeply, she pulled her gown back over her body, pulled up the covers, and thinking of two disparate pairs of eyes, turned on her side to sleep.

* * *

Most of the time, Mary managed to push aside the memories of her time at Downton and proceeded to get on with her life. She was pleased to discover that Sir Stuart Richardson, her business manager, had kept a close watch on the London real estate market and his suggestions for investments provided her with an increased income with little risk. She met with him the week following her return to London to discuss future investments. She was intrigued by the news of Charles Lindbergh's recent flight across the Atlantic, so she wanted Sir Stuart's opinion about whether investing in the transportation industry might be worthwhile. She knew him to be an astute financier himself, and she appreciated his friendship and expertise. He and his wife Lady Sarah were two of her closest friends in London. Mary tended to keep her circle of friends small, and she especially enjoyed socializing with the Richardsons because they respected her privacy and eschewed the busybodies found among London's elite.

* * *

There was a letter from Geoff waiting for her when she arrived home, confirming his visit in June. In a fortnight he would be in London on business, and Mary found herself thinking about him more and more. Flattered by his persistent attention, she looked forward to seeing him again. He seemed so different from Matthew although, admittedly, she had only had a glimpse into the kind of man he was. Still, she was intrigued. There was something mysterious about him, which somehow added to his allure. At one time, she had been skilled at juggling suitors, but she felt out of practice and found herself anxious about his upcoming visit. They exchanged one more letter and spoke once on the telephone, which relieved most of her apprehension about his arrival. He was cordial but not too familiar, so she began to look forward to seeing him again. The Richardsons had invited her to dinner when Geoff was to be in London, so it occurred to her that his attendance at this dinner might ease any awkwardness either of them felt during his visit.

Sarah was delighted at the prospect of Mary's actually being interested in a potential suitor. She knew very little of Mary's personal life but was aware that she had not had a man on her arm for quite some time. Sarah admired Mary's independence; not many single women could reach the top echelon of London society as Mary had. She knew the coolly-detached Mary piqued the interest of London's elite. She valued their friendship and loyally refused to disclose any information about her to the gossipmongers and gadflies. At Mary's request, she wrote Geoff to extend the invitation and received an immediate response expressing his pleasure and confirming he would attend.

* * *

The day of the dinner, Mary dressed carefully, selecting a Chanel black silk georgette column dress that would be worn with a beaded black silk cape. She loved the craftsmanship and style of the clothes and knew she would turn heads despite the clothing's somber color. Her simple jewelry and stylish haircut complimented the ensemble, and she was pleased with the result. Mary was grateful that Coco had sent these garments by post, along with several other pieces, when Mary had to cancel her spring trip to Paris.

She looked down at her vanity and saw the latest letter from Matthew that had arrived that day. She unfolded it and re-read it, smiling at the sentiment on the page. Although he refrained from using flowery language, he did tell her how much he missed her. She thought of him often and decided that seeing him occasionally might not be such a bad idea. She would have to compose her reply carefully, though, so as not to encourage him too much. The revelation that she loved him wasn't enough to convince her to make a decision about their relationship. She still was on tenterhooks about making any sort of commitment, and she certainly had no intention of telling him how she felt any time soon.

His letter also contained tidbits of information about the goings on in the village and asked her opinion about his latest idea for using some of the estate's profits. Sir Eric Geddes, chairman of the board of Imperial Airways, had approached him about investing in the new British airline. He found the idea intriguing because Lindbergh's flight had caused such excitement around the world. Since Mary already had spoken with Sir Stuart about investing in transportation, she was pleased to see that Matthew was considering the same kind of venture. She would write back and let him know that Sir Stuart was enthusiastic about the idea and was in the process of researching prospective companies. It struck her that both she and Matthew seemed to have similar ideas about financial investments, but she knew they always had been kindred spirits in so many ways. _Perhaps she would invite him to London to meet with her and Sir Stuart._

She heard the door chime and fought back a twinge of nervousness. Geoff was here to escort her to dinner. She placed the letter back on her vanity, took one last look in the mirror, and walked downstairs to greet him.


	10. Chapter 10

As much as he craved having her all to himself, Geoff couldn't help noticing how Mary—by simply nodding her head or raising a brow—commanded the attention of the dinner table. He watched her banter with, cajole, and captivate the other diners while he sat quietly, taking it all in. It wasn't just her striking beauty, which was a given, it also was her spirit, her essence, that filled him with desire. When she greeted him at her home that evening, he had to resist the urge to press his hand into the curve of her back and draw her to him. He wanted her. He wanted her more powerfully than he ever had wanted any other woman in his life. Sitting through the dinner making small talk with strangers was torture, but he made an effort to engage in conversation lest the others observe his focus on the most alluring woman in the room.

Circumstances beyond his control had led him to lead a solitary life. He had been imbued with a sense of hopelessness from an early age, yet now, he could not overcome the desire to pursue her, despite the ramifications. He had been with other women, many of them in fact, but he eschewed permanent relationships for reasons he kept to himself, leaving some women bereft and others irate. No matter. He never had met a woman before who could tempt him to reveal the reason for his solitude. Until now. She had filled his brain from the moment he first saw her, and now he knew, absolutely, he would move heaven and earth to possess her. He longed for the infernal dinner to end so he could be with her, touch her, run his hands along the lines of her body, envelop her in the heat of his arms.

 _He had to have her, the consequences be damned._

* * *

Dinner at the Richardson's home proved to be one of the most pleasant evenings Mary could remember. Eight couples sat around the table enjoying the delicious meal and clever conversation, which were followed by music in the drawing room. Geoff was a quiet dinner partner, tending to speak only when asked a question; however, when he and Mary sat together after dinner he gave her his full attention and was rather forthcoming himself.

"How did you leave…uh…Downton, right? It must have been difficult."

"Yes, but things were settling down somewhat, I suppose. Because Papa had been such a powerful presence, it will be hard for everyone to deal with his absence." She was quiet for a moment. "Of course, I haven't lived there for a number of years, but seeing it again made me nostalgic because it was my home for so long. It was hard to leave, but once Mama decided to travel to America, I had no choice but to return to London with her."

"So you would have stayed longer otherwise?" He cocked an eyebrow while asking the question.

"Oh, I doubt it. It was time to leave. Being there was difficult for a number of reasons. Getting home to London was a relief, actually."

"I would have had a hard time leaving Hanford Hall although if my older brother hadn't died in the war, I suppose I would have had to." He looked pensively at the ceiling as if remembering a struggle of some sort.

Mary placed her hand on his arm and said softly, "I didn't know you lost a brother. I'm so sorry."

"Thank you. Colin and I weren't particularly close, but I became the Marquess of Hanford when he died. Now, of course…."

"Now you're the Duke of Benningham. That's quite an honor as well as a responsibility. You mentioned that your father died recently. It seems we have something in common. Were you close to him?"

"I suppose as close as any son raised by nannies could be. Once I came of age, it was as if he finally recognized my existence." He smirked and shook his head. "By the way, I suspect we have more than just a little in common."

Mary blushed and laughed. "Perhaps. But, Geoff, look on the bright side. At least you weren't a daughter whose sole purpose for being was to marry the heir and continue the line."

"Is that what caused the rift between you and…and the new Earl?" Mary's surprised expression caused him to add quickly, "I'm sorry, Mary. It's just I couldn't help noticing that you two appeared uncomfortable around each other. I just wondered…"

"My relationship with Matthew was complicated and ended long ago, Geoff. He married someone else, and I moved to London. It's that simple and that difficult. I hadn't seen him for six years. It would have been longer than that if Papa hadn't died."

"But you loved him once." His grey eyes darkened and narrowed.

"That's very astute of you. Yes, I did. But as I said, it's been over for some time." She wondered about the truth of that statement but hoped Geoff believed her.

"Well, luckily for me, you did leave Downton. I would hate to think we would have met as the Countess of Grantham and the Duke of Benningham. That would've complicated things." He smiled slyly and kissed the back of her hand.

Mary blushed once again.

* * *

The Bentley was parked in front of Painswick House, Geoff at the wheel and Mary in the passenger seat. Mary's heart raced as she waited for him to exit the motor and open her door. She anticipated a goodnight kiss and imagined he did, too. He didn't move. She looked at him quizzically as he turned to face her.

He took her face in his hands, his hungry grey eyes peering into her questioning brown ones. "God, I knew when I first saw you at Downton, I had to have you in my life. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind since."

He pulled her roughly toward him and kissed her passionately. His muscular arms moved to her back, and she grasped at his shoulders and groaned into his mouth. Where Matthew's kisses were gentle and probing, Geoff's kisses were hard and demanding. She felt as if he were taking her captive, assertively exploring her mouth with his tongue and moving his hands forcefully from her neck to her back and pressing her upper body to his. _How strong he was!_ The kiss finally ended when he allowed her to push him away.

She leaned against the motor's door and tried to catch her breath. "Geoff, please! We hardly know each other," she gasped, stunned by his aggressiveness. This behavior was surprising because he had been so genteel at the Richardson's.

"But that's the point, Mary. I want to know everything about you. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind since we met. If I didn't know better, I'd say you had bewitched me." Eyeing her amorously, he leaned toward her, and she placed her hands on his chest to stop him. She wasn't afraid of him at that moment, but she was concerned that he would ask more of her than she was willing to give. She was startled as he clasped her wrists and drew her toward him again. He stared determinedly at her and said tersely, "I want you, Mary. I want you more than I've ever wanted any other woman." His eyes narrowed. "I warn you, I don't have much patience." She attempted to pull away, but he held her fast. "There's no need to struggle, Mary. I understand your reticence. You must know, however, that I'm not deterred."

Her dark eyes flashed as he looked at her intently. "And you must understand that I have no intention of letting myself be seduced at this point in our relationship. I enjoy your company, truly I do, but I certainly do not know you well enough to agree to what you're suggesting. Now, let go of me." As attracted as she was to him, she resolved to stay as cool and careful as possible, sensing his volatile nature. He was so different from the way he had been just an hour or so ago.

He released her wrists. "Then I will do all I can to rectify that situation."

* * *

The next morning Geoff arrived at her doorstep, roses in hand, asking for her forgiveness. She met with him in the parlour and sat stiffly as he apologized profusely.

"Really, Geoff, that's not necessary." Despite her initial misgivings, she found the fervor of his apology almost charming and could read the sincerity in his troubled grey eyes.

"But it is, Mary. There's no excuse for my behavior last evening. All I can say is I was overcome being in your presence, but I promise, this never, _never_ will happen again." He looked at her with such contrition, her heart went out to him.

"Very well, Geoff. I must admit, though, your behavior surprised me…" She lowered her head and raised an eyebrow. She wasn't quite ready to let him off the hook.

"And it should have! My behavior was abhorrent, but I hope you'll allow me to make it up to you. Please know I'll never do anything to hurt you or to make you feel afraid."

Mary replied with a smile, "I wasn't afraid of you, Geoff. I just was taken aback and didn't know what to think. Still, I appreciate your coming, and don't worry, I won't hold it against you."

Geoff's relief was obvious. He realized his actions the previous evening could have ended the relationship before it even had a chance to commence. He sighed deeply and rose, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips. "I'll be back in London in July. Perhaps then we could solidify your plans for visiting Northampton in August?"

"Of course, Geoff. I'll look forward to it."

Relieved that he had averted disaster, he changed the subject. "Oh, by the way, I'm looking to purchase an Arabian to add to my stable of horses. Could I impose upon you to look over some information about a few of the ones I'm considering?"

"Well…I don't know a lot about Arabians, but I'll be happy to help if I can. By all means, send along the paperwork, and I'll let you know what I think."

"Excellent. I'd like to have the horse on the premises before your arrival." His eyes softened again. "And Mary, thank you for seeing me this morning. I was afraid you wouldn't." They moved toward the door. "Now I must go. I have a meeting with my banker and then I'm off to Northampton."

"Safe travels, Geoff. I appreciate your coming by."

"Good bye, dear Mary."

After Geoff's departure, Mary returned to the parlour and stood next to a vase filled with roses, inhaling their mesmerizing scent and musing about what had been a most unusual morning.

* * *

As Mary settled back into her life in London, Matthew was adjusting to his new life in the Abbey. To his disappointment, Isobel decided to stay at Crawley House at least until Cora returned and decided where she would live. Matthew almost hoped Cora would unseat Isobel just so he could have some company. When he wasn't working, he found himself wandering through the Abbey looking at portraits, investigating the wings, and exploring the rooms. It took him several days to convince Carson and Mrs. Hughes, much to their consternation, that he didn't need an escort as he wandered about.

He started his room exploration with the attics and was fascinated by what was stored there. In addition to furniture and decorative items, there were trunks and chests filled with family heirlooms and clothing. Some trunks were labeled with the names of former earls or countesses, and he was amused to find men's suits made of French silk and ladies' stiff-bodied gowns. He couldn't help smiling, thinking that it wouldn't be difficult to find clothing for a costume ball among all the clothing stored there. He found Robert's uniform from the Boer War and Cora's wedding dress, which appeared to be wrapped lovingly in layers of tissue. He also discovered trunks labeled "Mary," "Edith," and "Sybil." He couldn't resist opening Mary's trunk and became quite emotional to discover childhood mementos that included dolls, toys, clothing, and other childhood items. There were tiny shoes—still shiny—and hair ribbons and tarnished silver rattles monogrammed with _MJC_. A well-worn, stuffed rabbit, its fur mottled and faded, stared up at him with its one remaining eye, and he imagined Mary as a child holding it lovingly as she slept. The rabbit reminded him of another precious toy she had given to him long ago, which he kept in the back of a drawer in his desk downstairs.

When he finished exploring the attics, he worked his way down, finally ending on the family corridor where his own room was located. He had asked Mrs. Hughes for one of the smaller bedrooms, believing extra space was a luxury he just didn't need. She chose one decorated in shades of blue, and although she offered to change the décor, he didn't feel the expense was necessary. It was comfortable and utilitarian. He needed nothing more. He brought with him a few pieces from Crawley House—his father's dressing table, his chair from university, and other personal items he'd held on to since living in Manchester.

He still had trouble believing that this massive structure now was his home. The rooms downstairs were familiar, at least. He had spent so much time in the dining room and library, for example, that he appreciated their familiarity. As he explored upstairs, though, he felt almost like a trespasser, wondering if he ever would feel comfortable. Looking into Robert and Cora's room, he was struck with melancholy. The bed was stripped, and the door to Robert's dressing room was open, revealing an empty closet and a cleared dressing table. Obviously, the staff already had moved Robert's clothing and personal items. Matthew hoped Cora had been able to go through Robert's things before they were put into storage. He made a mental note to let Cora know she was welcome to take anything she found memorable to her new home. He closed the door quietly and moved on to the other rooms.

When he opened the door to the red room, he knew immediately whose it was. There was no mistaking the scent— _Mary._ He froze, his hand gripping the doorknob. He often wondered about this room, fantasizing about its occupant and wishing he could have a glimpse into her private world. Now that he had the chance, he could barely move. The red papered walls, dark furniture, and luxurious linens seemed to whisper her name.

 _She had slept on that bed._

 _She had lounged on that chaise._

 _She had dressed and undressed here._

 _Years ago, this room knew all her secrets._

He walked to the vanity and pictured her sitting there, readying herself for some important social engagement or simply preparing for her day. He looked into the mirror and conjured her image. He ran his hand along the top of the vanity, as if he could feel her soft hands as they applied the intoxicating scent that wafted from her every time she moved. Unable to control his curiosity, he opened the upper right-hand drawer. He was not surprised to find it empty, but he was disappointed nonetheless. Opening the drawer below it, he glimpsed the edge of something lodged at the back. With a little effort, he pulled it from the drawer and was stunned to see it was an old, well-worn photograph of him, taken years earlier before the war. How did she come into possession of that, and why did she have it? It made him sad to think she had left it behind deliberately when she moved to London. Judging from its somewhat ragged appearance, it had been handled often, which gave him some solace but also filled him with regret.

He realized she had left him behind in every way.


	11. Chapter 11

As she sat in the morning room, Mary found the July heat in London almost unbearable. Fans, whirring like frenzied insects, stirred the hot air. She knew her clothing would be wilted by midday and hoped the heat would break before her meeting with Sir Stuart and Matthew later that afternoon.

She had written to Matthew to invite him to meet with her and Sir Stuart about possible business investments. Matthew responded enthusiastically to her invitation, which both pleased her and filled her with nervous anticipation. She hadn't seen him since her father's funeral, but they had kept in touch regularly. He seemed to have embraced the role of Earl, and his letters reflected the Matthew of old—strong, resilient, self-confident. And, she admitted to herself, quite attractive. Each letter from him was filled with descriptions of the changes he'd implemented at the estate, which included repairs to the Abbey itself and new plantings on the grounds.

 _I'd love for you to see how the new flower gardens are coming along. I insisted at least one section include asters because I remembered how much you liked them._

 _Replacing the cracked gutters and crumbling brick on the south façade was a necessary expense, but so was providing Mrs. Patmore with a new stove. The former was necessary to keep the house intact; the latter was necessary if I ever wanted to eat again._

 _Did you know the second Earl's snuffbox collection was stored in one of the attics? I suspect the footmen were not amused at having to clean them all! They're on display in the saloon now and definitely are good conversation starters._

 _It's been dreadfully hot lately, so I've taken to working outside on "our" bench under the cedar. I must admit it's difficult to concentrate some days because I keep picturing you sitting there._

 _I hope you'll be pleased to know that there's a new member of the Abbey's household. I've obtained a puppy that already has the run of the place. Her name is Andromeda._

Mary smiled in spite of herself at the news of Matthew's new dog. Although Robert had intended to replace Isis after her death, he had not done so. She was pleased Matthew continued the tradition of the Earl's owning a dog. She grinned as she thought of the significance of the name. For years Matthew teased her about her use of the Andromeda/Perseus story when they first met, and it seemed he still found it amusing.

 _I suppose that story always will be a part of our story._

But unlike Andromeda, she had rescued herself.

* * *

There was a complication, of course. Her feelings for Matthew hadn't changed. He dwelt in her heart, a part of her, drawing her like a magnet— _but, goodness!_ what a complication Geoff presented. She and Geoff also had exchanged several letters since the day of his apology, and she found herself looking forward to seeing him again. She knew she wasn't in love with him, but she felt, if his words of admiration were matched by actions, her feelings about him might strengthen. _Then, who knows?_ He was enigmatic, persistent, dynamic. And his description of his estate was so vivid, she had no trouble picturing the house and grounds. They sounded magnificent. Evidently there was an extensive art collection, and if Geoff were to be believed, the stables were as palatial as Hanford Hall itself. He could not hide his enthusiasm for her visit, promising to show her the places he loved best, and made her feel quite comfortable with the idea of traveling to Northampton. She had asked Sarah to accompany her, and Sarah enthusiastically agreed. Believing Sarah's presence would ensure that nothing untoward would occur, Mary was happy when Geoff readily expressed his delight that she would have a traveling companion.

Geoff, too, was pleased with the tenor of Mary's letters. She seemed to have let go of his bad behavior, and it was apparent she looked forward to the visit. He treated the arrival of each letter with great enthusiasm, for he knew, without a doubt, he loved her. He tried reading between the lines, searching for any clue that might indicate she returned his ardor, but to no avail. Her letters were friendly, interesting, and filled with opinions about the subjects he had broached in his. He could tell she was no coquette; her approach was straightforward, which led him to believe that if ( _or when, please God!_ ) she did give her heart to him, it would be because he'd earned it.

* * *

When Mary arrived at Sir Stuart's office, Matthew already was there. The secretary announced her, and she entered, took Matthew's hand in greeting, and sat, hoping the flush she felt in her cheeks would be attributed to the afternoon heat and not to her pleasure in seeing him again. God, he was handsome. The darkness of his features, so evident during the time of her papa's funeral, was gone, and the sparkle in his eyes had returned. He appeared to be more toned, leaner, than she remembered. He exuded confidence, and his presence seemed to fill the room. _The title of Earl seems to fit him well,_ she thought to herself.

Sir Stuart laid out the documents he had prepared about various transportation companies that compared their potentials for growth, returns on investment, and company histories. Matthew was pleased to see that Imperial Airways, the one in which he was the most interested, showed the greatest capacity for growth. He had spoken many times with Imperial's chairman about the company, so Sir Stuart's information confirmed what he suspected. He was impressed with Mary's questions about the company's stability and the experience of its leadership. He recalled once again Robert's saying that Mary had a head for business, and her discussion with Sir Stuart confirmed Robert's conclusion. Both he and Mary knew the pitfalls of investing in new companies, but they agreed that putting some of their capital into Imperial was the most sensible course. They instructed Sir Stuart to begin the process and rose to leave his office.

"You were right about Sir Stuart," Matthew said as they left the building. "I am very impressed with his professionalism. He certainly did a lot of research."

"He's a good man and very intelligent. He and his wife Sarah are dear friends of mine. I trust him implicitly."

"That's good. If you're pleased with our decision, I'm pleased. I'm confident the estate will continue to show a profit when this investment is combined with the others I've already made on its behalf."

"You've been a good steward for the estate, Matthew. It can't have been easy."

"Well, there was enough money to pay the death duties with plenty left over, thank goodness, but there's still more to do. I know you won't believe it, but now I'm in the process of improving the plumbing."

Mary laughed. "It's about time!"

"Don't I know it. Violet was beside herself when I told her I was installing private baths in some of the bedrooms and adding showers to the existing baths."

"I can imagine. She's not fond of modern comforts, but having an en suite bath with a shower in my bedroom is one of the things I like best about living in Painswick House. It was worth every pound I spent to add it."

Immediately, his mind pictured her in said shower, and he cleared his throat. She realized the impropriety of her statement and looked away, a flush traveling up her throat.

They stood awkwardly in front of the building, each not ready to leave the other.

"Um…would you like to come to Painswick House for tea?"

Matthew's eyes twinkled. "I thought you'd never ask."

Mary laughed. "Well, I can't guarantee it will be any cooler there than in Sir Stuart's office."

He smiled and said, "I'm always warm when I'm with you, Mary, no matter where we are. Shall we?" He offered her his arm, and they walked to Mary's motor. As the chauffeur drove carefully toward Eaton Square, Matthew found himself almost tongue-tied. Despite the heat, Mary was as lovely as ever. Perspiration had caused some of the hair around her face and at the back of her neck to curl gently. Her flushed cheeks glowed, only adding to her appeal. Finally, he noted, "I meant to tell you that Anna sends her regards. She and Bates really have made a go of the Grantham Arms. I was there for tea just the other day."

Mary smiled at the memory of her former lady's maid. Many times Anna had been her sole source of comfort in her youth, and she valued her for her discretion as well as for her expertise. "I knew they'd do well. I'm so happy for them after all their troubles. Perhaps I'll be able to visit with her someday and see the results of their work."

"I hope you'll soon come back to Downton." The timbre of his voice lowered. "I know she'd like that…as would I."

Mary flushed further at his last statement. "Well, here we are."

Gleason greeted them as they entered the house, and Mary ordered tea to be served in the sitting room, which was the coolest room in the house on hot, late summer afternoons.

They were still standing as Gleason brought the tea. "Thank you, Gleason, I'll pour."

Mary smiled as she asked, "So, how is Andromeda doing? You know, you really ought to obtain a Perseus for her."

Matthew laughed, "She's enough to handle right now, but in the future…who knows? I suppose every Andromeda needs a Perseus." His raised eyebrows indicated he wasn't referring only to the myth.

Matthew looked around the stylish room, remembering its once ornate décor, and noted, "This room suits you. It's certainly different from the way it was when Lady Rosamund lived here."

"I didn't realize you'd ever been here." She moved toward the couch to sit when she felt Matthew's hand touch her elbow briefly. She turned to face him.

"Years ago. During Sybil's season. Remember? The family dined here one night." He reached for her hands and squeezed them gently.

Mary looked down at her hands in his and said softly, "Oh, Matthew, that was a lifetime ago. I'd forgotten."

"I haven't. That time will live in my memory forever." He raised her hands to his lips and kissed each palm. "It was the happiest I've ever been in my life."

He drew her to him and touched his forehead to hers.

"Because I hadn't yet disappointed you?" she whispered.

"Because we knew we loved each other," he said simply.

Suddenly, they were wrapped in each other's arms, melting together, their hearts beating in tandem. The heat of the day was replicated in the heat emanating from their bodies. They both sighed as their lips touched, and as the kiss deepened, her body curved into his. Her arms twined around his neck, and one of his hands moved to the small of her back, the other to the back of her neck under her hair. The smooth, liquid silk of her dress allowed him to imagine her skin as he pressed his hand to her body and pulled her hips toward his. He kissed her forehead and both of her eyes, and then his mouth found a spot just under her ear that caused her to whimper softly. Her hands moved to his throat, her fingers impatient as they loosened his tie and his damp collar. She pulled his skin into her mouth and nipped and sucked until he, too, moaned in response. They whispered each other's names over and over, seven years of longing culminating in the desire to find what they always had known was there but couldn't be acted upon. She felt safe wrapped in his arms and melted into him; he pressed his body against hers, reveling in how perfectly they fit together. Their lips met once again, and mouths opened as dueling tongues explored palates, and low moans emanated from the backs of throats. Her hands moved down his chest to his waist as his warm hands massaged her curves and felt her skin ripple in response to his touch. They almost were overcome—

Throbbing.

Craving.

Aching.

Desiring.

Hungering.

Just as Matthew lifted her to move to the sofa, the front bell chimed. He stood her back on the floor, and they both dropped their heads, holding on to one another's elbows, breathing rapidly as they heard Gleason greet the visitor at the front door.

"Good afternoon, your Grace. Is Lady Mary expecting you?"

Mary shot Matthew a panicked look as he looked thunderously toward the door.

"No—er…Gleason, is it?—she isn't. I'm in London for the day and hoped she might be home."

"She is, your Grace. If you will kindly wait a moment, I'll announce you."

Without realizing it, Matthew was gripping Mary's elbows as he listened to the conversation in the front hallway. She pulled herself from his grasp and began straightening her clothes and smoothing her hair in anticipation of greeting Geoff. Her mind was racing as she recognized the awkward situation in which she and Matthew were about to find themselves.

"Were you expecting him?" Matthew growled between clenched teeth.

"I certainly was _not_ expecting him," replied Mary, resenting his implication. "I have no earthly idea why he's here." _He had said he was coming to London in July, but to show up without notice…?_

The door opened. "The Duke of Benningham, milady."

"Thank you, Gleason. Please show him in."

The Duke entered the room and stopped short when he saw the red-faced couple, their lips swollen, eyes bright, skin flushed, breathing shallow. _Where had he seen that man before?_

"Geoff, what a surprise. How nice to see you. You remember my cousin, Matthew Crawley, the Earl of Grantham?"

He glared at Matthew and replied tersely, "Ah, yes. Lord Grantham. I didn't expect to find _you_ here."

"I could say the same, your Grace," he replied curtly as he fixed his collar and straightened his tie while returning Geoff's glare.

 _Mary wanted to disappear into the floor._

"Matthew and I met today with Sir Stuart about some investments we plan to make."

There was a pause before he answered. "With _whom_?"

"Sir Stuart Richardson—you remember him, surely, from the dinner we attended at his home?—he's my financial advisor."

"Well, it looks as if those investments already have begun to pay off," Geoff said sarcastically as he continued to glower fixedly at Matthew.

"Indeed, they were," Matthew replied evenly, standing his ground. "What brings _you_ here?"

 _Mary prayed for the ability to vanish into the ether._

Looking squarely at Matthew, he sniped, "I'm on my way back to Northampton and thought I'd stop by to confirm our plans for Mary's visit next month." Turning to Mary and smiling roguishly, he added, "You'll be pleased to know I was able to purchase the Arabian stallion you recommended. My grooms say they've never seen a finer horse. You're an excellent judge of horseflesh, Mary." He leaned toward her and said smoothly, "I believe you'll enjoy the ride."

Mary saw Matthew's jaw muscles tighten. She took a breath and replied lightly, "I'm sure I will, Geoff. I'm looking forward to it. We agreed on the tenth, didn't we?" She paused a moment. "Won't you sit down? Matthew and I were just having tea. Would you like some?"

Matthew looked at her incredulously. _Tea? Really?_

Geoff looked down at the unused teacups on the tray. A disturbed look crossed his brow, and his eyes shot to Mary. "No, thank you, my dear. I really need to be on my way. I have an engagement at Hanford Hall tonight, and I mustn't be late." He turned to Matthew. "Good day, Lord Grantham." Matthew gave a stiff nod in response and said nothing. Geoff held out his arm to Mary. "Walk me to the door?" The question was tinged with authority.

Mary took his arm, and he covered her hand with his as he led her out of the room. Matthew's fists clenched as he watched them leave. When they reached the front door, Geoff took her firmly by the shoulders and said harshly, his jaw tight, "I thought you said it was over."

She shook herself out of his grasp and stepped back. "I don't know what you mean. What are you implying, Geoff?" She hoped she sounded convincingly affronted.

He scowled. "I'm not an idiot, Mary. I recognize the signs when the throes of passion are interrupted. I warn you, I don't take kindly to being played for a fool."

"I assure you, Geoff…."

"I mean it, Mary. It's obvious that soon you'll have to make a choice. I plan to do everything in my power to ensure it's the right one." With that, he pulled her to him and kissed her passionately. Then he said quietly, "Goodbye, my dear. I'll see you on the tenth." He turned and walked outside to his waiting motor.

Stunned, she closed the door after him and leaned against it. Once again, Geoff's personality variations left her speechless. She briefly wondered if going to Northampton was such a good idea.

"Mary? Are you all right?"

She had to gather her wits to answer. "Of course," she answered brightly.

Matthew met her at the sitting room door. "I heard what he said, Mary. What exactly is going on? You're not really going to Northampton _now_ , are you?" His eyes reflected both concern and anger.

"Of course I am." She saw disbelief on his face and said insistently, "Oh, Matthew, there's nothing to worry about. He just happens to be rather intense. It's only a day trip. Besides, Sarah Richardson is going with me, so I'll be perfectly fine."

"Intense?" Matthew was incredulous. "You can't be serious. He practically threatened you!"

"Oh, Matthew, don't be so dramatic. Really, you'd think I was a girl of seventeen unable to handle myself." She was getting irritated now and didn't appreciate his attitude.

Matthew could tell she was aggravated, so he leveled his tone and moved toward her. "It's just that I thought we were finding our way back together. You _know_ how I feel about you, so it's disturbing to see you pay attention to someone else," he said intensely, not considering how his words might reopen wounds, wounds that he inflicted so long ago.

Mary straightened her back, raised her chin, and said fiercely, "Really, Matthew? You have _the_ _nerve_ to say that to me…after…after what you put me through? I can't believe you." Shaking with indignation, she strode to the front door, wheeled around, and said contemptuously as she opened it, "Don't you have a train to catch?"


	12. Chapter 12

After Mary closed the door behind Matthew (she had resisted the urge to slam it), she returned to the sitting room and sat shaking on the sofa. _How dare he accuse her of upsetting him?_ Why was it they never managed to be together without one or the other of them ending up unhappy? Allowing Matthew back into her life caused turmoil for them both. For seven years she had worked so hard to get past the pain, to get her life into some sort of order, and now she almost was back where she started. It hadn't occurred to her that Geoff's presence in her life, as minimal as it was currently, concerned Matthew. He had no hold on her, so she was free to see whomever she pleased. Still, if Matthew felt half the pain she had, maybe he would be more understanding of the hurt he caused all those years ago. Perhaps being able to talk things through calmly would lead to closure for them both.

* * *

As the train clipped along toward Downton, Matthew sat in his compartment and agonized over his confrontation with Mary. One minute they were in each other's arms; the next minute she was throwing him out of her house. Finally, he grasped the depth of the pain he had inflicted on her all those years ago. How devastated she must have been when he brought Lavinia to Downton, parading her in front of Mary as if to prove his resilience; how grieved she must have felt as she sat in the church during the marriage ceremony, watching him pledge his troth to another.

He remembered looking into her eyes that day and longing for her, knowing there was nothing he could do to assuage their mutual pain.

He remembered the look of hopelessness in her eyes and the ache in his soul as she left for London intending never to return to Downton.

He remembered being in denial about her feelings for him though she had nursed him, supported him, encouraged him, and done everything in her power to help him recover during his convalescence. Even _that_ wasn't enough to convince him of her love.

He had dwelt so long on his own pain that what he had done to her never truly had sunk in—until now. _God, he had made a mess of everything!_ Just when his dream of being with the love of his life finally might have become a reality, he accused her of doing to him the very thing he had done to her.

He had to figure a way to rectify things. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that the two times they had been in each other's arms recently, they really hadn't talked beforehand. They were drawn together instantaneously, the magnetism undeniable. Somehow they had to _talk_ , so that he could let her know he now understood how he made her feel when he chose Lavinia over her. He also wanted her to have the chance express her feelings without his interference. It might not work, but he had to give it a try.

And he had a bad feeling about the Duke, whose interest in Mary was obvious. Matthew noticed how the Duke's eyes darkened when he looked at her, and Matthew sensed that Mary was intrigued by him. He doubted the Duke had sinister motives, but there was something… something disturbing…about the way he spoke so assertively to her. Her going to Northampton scared him because it meant she might be amenable to the Duke's advances. He resolved not to give her up without a fight.

* * *

As the day for her trip to Northampton approached, Mary felt both eagerness and trepidation. She was going only for the day to ride the horse the Duke had purchased at her suggestion. She knew he had bought the stallion to entice her to visit, and it had worked. Geoff had asked for her opinion, sending her papers and stud book information that outlined the horse's lineage, and she had been impressed not only with its pedigree but also with its purchase price. None of the fine horses her papa had purchased through the years came close to the price Geoff paid for this one. Judging from the photographs he had sent, Babylon was a magnificent gray Arabian standing an impressive 15.3 hands high. From what Mary had read, he was intelligent and spirited, and she couldn't help seeing a positive resemblance to her beloved Diamond. She was eager to put him through his paces.

The prospect of seeing Geoff again was what made her apprehensive about her visit to Hanford Hall. He seemed to embody the dispositions of two different men. The day he dropped by Painswick House and interrupted her tryst with Matthew, he baffled her, not because he came to her house but because his personality seemed so different from the way he was the day of his apology. Of course, he was surprised to see Matthew there, but still…. His hostility toward Matthew and the way he spoke to her that day mimicked his aggressive behavior in his car after the dinner with the Richardsons, but his demeanor during their private conversations both at Downton and during the dinner party reflected gentility and charm. She didn't know what to make of him and wondered which Geoff would greet her in Northampton.

* * *

When Mary and Sarah entered their first-class compartment on the early train for Northampton, they were pleased to see the weather was sunny and unseasonably cool.

"Thank you so much for traveling with me, Sarah. I hope it's an enjoyable day."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be. I'm pleased you asked me to go with you, and I must admit I'm looking forward to seeing Hanford Hall. I've heard so much about it. Evidently, it's a real showplace."

"That's what I've heard, too," replied Mary, "and the grounds are supposed to be magnificent."

"I haven't ridden in quite a while, but I've always loved it. This should be fun. Are you looking forward to seeing Geoff again?"

"I am, actually. He's been quite persistent about my visiting, as you know, so…."

"So, you get to see him in his natural habitat, so to speak." They both laughed. "I must say, I'm happy to see you're _finally_ interested in someone. Frankly, you've been alone long enough. Do you realize how many men you've left in your wake?"

"You sound like my granny."

"Well, she's right. From what you've told me, it's time you considered keeping company with someone, and Geoff is quite a catch. He seems quite besotted with you."

"Maybe, but I certainly don't intend to rush into anything with him. Besides, I like my life as it is. I've _had_ complicated."

"I know, I know. But the great love of your life still has a hold on you, doesn't he?" Sarah said kindly.

Mary paused a moment and then said softly, "Sarah, you need to understand that Matthew, or rather the memory of him, is with me all the time. I don't know why, but I just can't seem to pry him from my brain. I measure every man I meet against him—consciously or unconsciously, I suppose—and no one seems to match up. I was managing well until I had to go back to Downton when Papa died. Seeing Matthew again triggered all sorts of feelings that I thought I had well under control. I will say, though, that Geoff is the first man who intrigues me enough for me to want to pursue getting to know him better. That's why I agreed to this visit."

"Then let's hope he surpasses your expectations."

"Yes, let's."

* * *

The evening before Mary left for Northampton, Matthew sat pensively in the library. He dreaded the next day because he was sure Mary would be on her way to Hanford Hall and the Duke. He felt powerless. After their argument in London, he feared she was slipping away because her last letter coolly accepted his written apology and ended with _Cordially, your Cousin_. He had to do something.

* * *

Geoff met Mary and Sarah at the station and greeted them warmly. He already was dressed in his riding breeches, shirt, and jacket, and Mary noted how his distinguished appearance was complemented by the fit of his clothing. As they approached Hanford Hall, Mary and Sarah were impressed by the wide, sculptured lawns and avenues of trees. The stately house itself was palatial, a combination of Tudor and French architecture that reflected peace and elegance.

"Oh, Geoff, what a lovely estate," Mary declared. "No wonder you love it so." Sarah echoed that sentiment.

"Thank you. I'm glad you appreciate its beauty. The third Duke oversaw several renovations to the original house, and it's barely changed since."

They entered the grand hall and walked past lines of servants, noting the extravagant state rooms filled with fine works of art and elegant furniture. Mary had visited many beautiful estates, but Hanford Hall truly was one of the most stunning she had ever seen. As much as she loved the Abbey, it seemed an intimate house compared to the vast elegance of this hall.

Geoff introduced them to Simmons, his butler of many years, who reminded Mary of Carson. He had the same officious nature coupled with a twinkle in his eye he saved for special people or occasions. Mary and Sarah had not traveled with maids, so Geoff directed them to a dour, elderly woman who was standing at the head of the line. "Ladies, this is Mrs. Anders, my head housekeeper, who will see your needs."

"Thank you, Geoff." Mary turned to the woman and smiled. "I hope we're not inconveniencing you too much."

"Not at all, Lady Mary. It's my pleasure to assist you." She turned to Sarah. "And I hope you'll find Edwina a suitable maid. Please follow me, and we'll get you ready for the day."

Mrs. Anders was happy the Duke had seen fit to invite the two ladies to Hanford Hall. He rarely entertained, usually only inviting guests to fulfill business commitments, so the presence of Lady Mary and Lady Sarah brightened what normally would have been a rather ho-hum day. She had observed that the Duke seemed particularly excited about Lady Mary's acceptance of his invitation. For almost two months he had reminded his housekeeper of the upcoming visit, nearly driving her mad with suggestions, worries, and requests to ensure Lady Mary would be suitably impressed with the house. She never had seen him so enthusiastic about a visitor, and after she met Lady Mary, she understood why. In addition to being quite a beautiful woman, Lady Mary seemed to embody the elegance and grace of someone who one day could be the Duchess of Hanford Hall.

She was present for the Duke's birth and had watched him grow into a fine, albeit troubled, man. Life had not been particularly kind to him or his family—his parents and his brother all were gone— and she suspected he had avoided making any kind of commitment because of his family's history. The way he looked at Lady Mary as he squired her into the great hall gladdened Mrs. Ander's heart, and she hoped he finally had found the happiness that had eluded him for so long.

She led Mary and Sarah upstairs to two grand apartments, where their traveling bags had been unpacked and their habits were pressed and ready.

Once Mary was alone with Mrs. Anders, she asked, "Have you been at Hanford Hall long, Mrs. Anders?"

"Yes, milady. I was the late Duchess's lady's maid when she first came to Hanford Hall a little over forty years ago. I came with her when she married the Duke's late father."

"My, you _have_ been here a long time. I'm sure you must feel almost like a member of the family."

"Almost, Milady, but I know my place."

"Oh, but surely the Duke must appreciate your experience and loyalty. May I ask when the Duchess died?"

"Twenty years ago last month, milady." Her face softened. "It was a trying time for the Duke and his sons. She was a wonderful woman."

"I'm sure. Was she ill?"

"In a manner of speaking, milady. She died by her own hand."

"My goodness, how horrible for the family. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to pry." Mary was distressed by the information, feeling as if she ought to stop delving into Geoff's family business. Suicide was something she knew little about, but she felt it was not her place to learn anything other than what Geoff was willing to share with her.

As Mrs. Anders helped Mary into her habit, she continued to talk, her eyes taking on a faraway look. "The whole situation was very sad. She had _spells_ – quite odd, actually, since her father had experienced the same condition."

"Oh, my. What _kind_ of spells?" Mary couldn't help asking. Here was a bit of information that aroused her interest despite her resolution not to snoop.

"Mood changes, angry outbursts, forgetfulness – and…um…other sorts of things. For years she had seen her father suffer from the same ailment. I suppose she couldn't face what was coming, so one day she killed herself in the rose garden." She shook her head sadly. "The Duke had it plowed under the following day." As if she realized she had said too much, she clamped her mouth shut. "Pardon me, milady. I didn't mean to…."

"Think nothing of it, Mrs. Anders. Rest assured I won't speak of this to the Duke." _Obviously, Mrs. Anders still was affected by the Duchess's death,_ thought Mary. _How terrible._

"Thank you, milady." Her relief was visible. Of the two brothers, the Duke was her favorite, and she was proud of the man he'd become. Also, she truly was fond of him and certainly didn't want him to think her disloyal. She watched him deal with family tragedy with maturity and grace, but it was obvious the "family ailment" always was in the back of his mind. She knew she was speaking out of turn, but she felt as if she should say one thing further.

"Milady?"

"Yes, Mrs. Anders?"

"The Duke is a very fine man."

"I think so, but it's nice to hear you say it."

"I think he worries about…of course, I'm not sure…but…I feel you ought to…to be aware…"

 _Geoff seems to have mood changes…and outbursts._ _Was this something he had inherited from his mother and grandfather?_ _Surely not. As she told Matthew, Geoff simply is intense. That is all._ She resolved not to worry too much about what the elderly woman had told her. After all, she only was here for the day.

"Oh, certainly, Mrs. Anders. Thank you."

Once she and Sarah were dressed for riding, they went downstairs and met Geoff outside. He was holding the bridle of one of the most splendid horses Mary ever had seen. She took an apple from one of the grooms and approached the animal slowly. She held out her hand, and he took the apple from her as she stroked his nose and spoke softly to him.

"Oh, Babylon, you're a beauty, aren't you?" She admired his finely-chiseled head and ran her hand along his long, arching neck. He exuded nobility and intelligence. She checked to ensure he was properly tacked and then turned to Geoff and smiled widely.

"He looks up for an adventure. Shall we?" she asked.

"Absolutely." Geoff watched as she mounted Babylon expertly, swinging her right leg over his back and settling into the saddle. It was obvious to Geoff that purchasing the horse to ensure her trip to Northampton was a worthwhile expenditure. He grinned as she walked Babylon slowly around the drive, talking quietly to him and getting accustomed to his movements. Babylon, too, appeared to size up his rider's ability and mood and responded to Mary's tacit commands. Her obvious skill as a horsewoman stirred something in Geoff, and he found himself looking forward to the opportunity when he could hold her in his arms again. As soon as Geoff and Sarah were mounted, the three took off across the countryside, Geoff leading the way on his favorite Arabian stallion and Sarah on a chestnut mare following the other two.

While dressing, Sarah had made up her mind to allow Geoff and Mary some time to be alone. She resolved to ride out with them for awhile and then head back to the house using the excuse of a headache. She knew Mary was interested in Geoff and felt she didn't need to act as a buffer between the two. She knew from observing her for several years that Mary could take care of herself, so she was confident Mary would feel comfortable being alone with Geoff as they rode. They planned to take the late train back to London, so she would have time to explore the house and grounds at her leisure while Mary and Geoff had time together without her being in the way.

* * *

Matthew sat on the early-morning train to London still questioning whether what he was doing was smart or foolhardy. No matter. He would meet Mary's train from Northampton that evening, and he was determined they would talk.

* * *

 _Now that all that folderol is over, things definitely will heat up in the next chapters._


	13. Chapter 13

_**Trigger Warning:**_ _There is a very intense attempted-assault scene in this chapter._

* * *

After riding for over an hour, Sarah returned to the house, leaving Mary and Geoff to continue their ride. Flying across the countryside was exhilarating, and Mary found herself laughing often as Babylon responded to her touch. They rode on woodland paths and galloped over rolling hills, the wind whistling around their faces. Several times they exchanged looks of sheer enjoyment as they reveled in the feeling of freedom afforded by unrestricted riding.

On one particular stretch of open land as she and Geoff rode side-by-side, Mary leaned forward and uttered between gritted teeth, "Let's see what you can do, my boy." She dug her heels into Babylon's side, gave him his head, and he responded by powering forward and leaving Geoff behind to try to catch up. Her hat flew off, and her loosed hair whipped in the wind, catching the sunlight. Ignoring Mary's airborne headgear, Geoff urged his horse on, determined to catch up with her. _She was glorious, a vision, Circe on horseback._ She laughed aloud over her shoulder and headed in the direction of one of the estate's small lakes. She reined in Babylon and caught her breath as she approached the lake, and Geoff came alongside her.

"Follow me," he called as he rode along the lake's perimeter. She followed him, settling Babylon into a trot. They rode for a few minutes when they came upon a blanket and large basket set out under a large alder tree near the water's edge.

"What's this?" asked Mary. She actually was glad to have a respite and knew Babylon was ready for water and a rest.

"I thought we could take advantage of the lovely weather, so I had Simmons organize a feast for us."

"How nice!"

She started to dismount, and Geoff moved quickly to assist her. She slipped from the saddle into his arms, and his hands grasped her waist as her hands held on to his shoulders. He smiled down at her and kissed her gently. He took her hand, led her to the blanket, and said, "Let's see what Simmons has had prepared for us, shall we?"

The basket included sliced melon, cold chicken, cucumber sandwiches, and custard tarts. There also was lemonade and a light Beaujolais, which Geoff promptly opened. As they ate, they talked about a variety of subjects. They laughed about current events and family traditions. Neither of them was surprised to discover how much their families had in common. He entertained her with stories about his older brother's and his hijinks while away at Eton; she regaled him with tales about the number of nannies and governesses she and her sisters had tormented. Mary couldn't remember the last time she had felt so relaxed. Geoff actually was the first man since Matthew whom she found both interesting and attractive. After they finished eating, Geoff removed his coat and stretched out on the blanket, and Mary leaned back and propped herself against the tree trunk. It had been a perfect day so far. She looked over the grounds and was reminded of Downton's beauty. There were the same kinds of rolling hills and copses, and riding Babylon gave her the same feeling of freedom as did riding her beloved Diamond. _Geoff was right_ , she thought. _Northamptonshire is every bit as lovely as Downton._ Its proximity to London also was appealing, which caused her to smile.

"That was delicious, Geoff. I must be sure to thank Simmons for going to such trouble."

"Mmmm. I'm sure he would appreciate your thanks." She noted how Geoff's even breathing accentuated his broad chest, and she resisted the urge to run her fingers through his mussed hair.

"Are you about to go to sleep on me?" she asked with mock indignity.

"Never!" he responded glibly. "I'm simply resting my eyes." He sat up and turned to her. "So, what do you think of Babylon? Was he worth the cost?"

"Oh, Geoff, he's marvelous—so responsive and easy to handle. You have a real treasure in him. It's funny, but he reminds me of my Diamond although Diamond is a thoroughbred, not an Arabian, and Babylon is much smaller. They have the same spirit and intelligence, though." Mary looked up at the cloudless sky reflectively.

"Speaking of treasures, there's another one I'm anxious to acquire." His eyes narrowed as he gazed at her.

"Really, don't you already have a stable full of horses? Why would you need yet another?"

"I wasn't referring to horses, Mary." He edged next to her and faced her; his legs stretched out alongside her body, and his left arm moved to the other side of her next to her hip. "You're the treasure I want." His grey eyes darkened as he looked at her intensely.

 _Something's come over him,_ she thought to herself. _His face has changed somehow._

Mary's breathing hitched, and before she could respond, Geoff leaned in, took her flushed face in his hands, and kissed her fervently. Her hands went to his arms, and she felt the strength of his biceps. The kiss intensified as he drew her body to his, his hands moving down from her neck to her back. She could taste the wine on his lips, and his scent was a heady mixture of sweat and spice. She was instantly aroused. Nearly overcome with the sensation of her body in his arms, he forced his tongue into her mouth. His hand unbuttoned her jacket, untied her tie, and moved to her breasts, which he began kneading urgently causing her to moan from the sensation. Continuing the kiss, he grunted as he lifted her away from the tree and flung her onto the blanket. He shifted his body next to hers and forced his left leg between her legs. Moving his hand to her hip, he pressed her body to his. His strength overwhelmed her, and although she was aware that her own passion had been mounting, she suddenly felt as if he were losing control somehow, so she began to resist, gasping, "Please, Geoff. Slow down." Her hands moved to his chest, and she could feel and hear the intensity of his breathing. She squelched the urge to scream, but she repeatedly implored with him to stop. He ignored her, his mind overcome by a cloud of lust that interpreted her calls as ones of passion. He pulled away and ignoring her thrashing, unbuttoned her blouse frantically, his lips following his fingers, and he then yanked it open to expose her chemise. She called his name, begging him to stop, but he was deaf to her entreaties. His mouth moved over the silk covering her breasts, and she gasped and flailed as his lips sucked her nipples until they ached. She cried out, but he ignored her pleas. His hand jerked down the top of the garment and exposed her breasts, which caused him to groan and her to shriek, and his mouth began brutalizing her pebbled nipples. She tried to push him away, but she was quaking and helpless under his weight. She continued her protestations but to no avail. She writhed against him—grabbing at his hair, his shirt, anything she could grasp to deter him—as he pushed his hips against her. He continued his frenzied assault on her body and growled, "I want you," and his other hand suddenly grasped one of hers and forced it to stroke his erection. "Feel that?" he snarled. "It needs to be inside you—now."

She was panicking in earnest, her mind whirling with unbridled fear. _"Geoff, please, stop…I can't..._ _Please_ … _Don't do this_ ," she pleaded. She had never experienced this type of aggression—even Kemal Pamuk had not been as forceful, or as strong, all those years ago—and she was terrified Geoff would not stop no matter how much she begged.

"Don't you want me?" he mumbled. He gripped the inside of her thigh so violently she cried out against the pain. He then moved his other hand to her center and began to grind his fingers forcefully against her as she struggled and screamed at him. He hissed breathlessly, "I can tell you do. You're…oh, you're ready… hot…let me …God…I want you…now." As he began tearing at the waistband of her jodhpurs, Mary mustered as much strength as she could and pushed him away, shouting forcefully, _"Geoff, I said NO!"_

Breathing heavily, he fell back with a start, and Mary scrambled away from him, her back once again against the tree and her legs curled under her body. She was shocked, panting, horrified by his attack. She pulled her chemise back over her exposed breasts and attempted to button her blouse, but her hands were shaking too violently for her to complete the task.

"You're thinking about that…that man…that man…I caught you with, aren't you?" His eyes sparked with fury, and she saw his body coil with anger.

 _Oh, my God._

 _He can't recall Matthew's name._

 _Outbursts and forgetfulness._

 _Oh, my God. Surely not._

"You're with _him_ , aren't you?" His entire body reflected his rage, and Mary tried to back farther away but was thwarted by the tree trunk.

"No!" She slapped his hands away as he tried to grab her arms.

He grabbed her flailing hands at the wrists, raised them above her head, and straddled her, forcing her back violently into the tree. _"HE'S YOUR LOVER!"_ His eyes flashed with irate frenzy.

" _Geoff, NO! He isn't!_ _Please_! _You're hurting me!_ " Try as she might to keep from crying, she couldn't keep her tears at bay. She knew full well she hadn't the physical strength to fight him off again should his attack escalate.

Suddenly, as if he just had become aware of her distress, Geoff froze, let go of her wrists, and jumped up and stared at her trembling form. Then he blanched and turned his back to her.

Wiping the tears from her face, she stood quickly and tried again to button her blouse as she raced to where Babylon was tethered. It took what was left of her strength to mount the horse, and she dug her heels into Babylon's sides and headed back in the direction of the house. She heard Geoff cry, "Mary, wait!" but she didn't look back as Babylon tore across the manicured grounds.

* * *

Before he left for London, Matthew had telephoned Lavinia to see if she were willing to meet with him that afternoon since he would have time before Mary's train arrived. Their divorce would be final soon, and he wanted to ensure they parted on amicable terms. Most of their communication had been conducted through lawyers, but they had spoken briefly a time or two. She was amenable to his visiting her, so when he arrived at her father's house in Westminster, she greeted him warmly. It was obvious that she was more relaxed than she had been in quite a while, despite the stress she surely would face as a divorced woman.

"You look wonderful, Lavinia. How have you been?"

She smiled in response and said, "Fine, actually. Being with Father has allowed me to get my bearings. I found it difficult living in the city again at first, but I'm enjoying it now. And how have you been? I'm sure dealing with all the ramifications of Robert's death has been a challenge."

"It has, but the estate is in fine shape, thank goodness."

"And Cora and…and the girls? How are they?"

"I suppose they're as well as could be expected. Cora went to America after the funeral, but she should be back next month. Sybil couldn't come for the funeral, as you know, but Edith was there, of course, and Mary stayed for a month."

"Ah, so Mary didn't stay at Downton? I thought she might."

"No. She didn't. You sound surprised."

"I am, actually. As much as she loves…Downton, I just thought she might stay on."

"Uh, no. She considers London home now." Matthew could not meet her eyes.

"Let's not beat about the bush, Matthew. Now that you're free, I was sure you would attempt to lure her back to Downton."

Matthew's face reddened. "I don't know why you would say that. Mary's life is in London now."

Lavinia straightened in her chair. "Well, that's as maybe, but Matthew, you always wanted her by your side, not me."

"I don't know why you _say_ such a thing. You know I tried to make a go of our marriage."

She looked at him earnestly. "That's just it, Matthew. You _tried,_ but I knew your heart wasn't in it. She always was the third person in our marriage, no matter whether you realized it. It was obvious you weren't happy with me when you could have, _should_ have, had Mary. I know you loved me—in a way—but that love couldn't compare to how you felt about her. That's why you worked long hours and let the estate's demands consume you."

His face darkened. "So, I was a bad husband, is that what you're saying?"

"No, I'm not saying that at all. You were solicitous and kind, but I knew deep down your heart belonged to her. When she left Downton after we married, it was as if half of you went with her. And you never really recovered." She paused and gave him a sad smile. "I was willing to give our marriage a go at first because I loved you so much, but I knew you never would belong to me. That's the main reason I left. You know we made each other miserable."

Matthew sat silently for a minute and then leaned forward. "I'm sorry, Lavinia. Honestly. I didn't realize…. I wish you had told me."

"Oh, Matthew, why? It wouldn't have served any purpose. You just would have denied it. I lived with that knowledge for over seven years." Tears filled her eyes. "Knowing that and living with the pressures of being a future countess were just too much. I left to save myself and to give you the chance to be with the person you always were meant to be with."

* * *

Mary arrived at Hanford Hall minutes before Geoff. She hurried into the house and was heading up the stairs to collect herself and to change for the train ride back to London when he burst through the door and rushed up the stairs after her and called her name.

He reached for her arm. She recoiled and spoke sharply, "Don't touch me!"

"Mary, please let me explain…"

"There's nothing _to_ explain, Geoff. You attacked me. You tried to _rape_ me! I have nothing to say to you. Now, leave me alone." Her tears were replaced with cold rage.

"Mary, there's something you don't know, something that I must tell you. Please, Mary, _please_ give me a moment before you leave. I promise I won't touch you…I won't hurt you."

She considered his plea and finally said, "Very well, but you mustn't come near me."

Geoff turned and slowly descended the stairs, Mary following cautiously behind. He led her into a small sitting room and directed her to a sofa near a window.

"I prefer to sit here," she said severely, pointing to a wingback chair near the door.

Mary watched warily as Geoff nodded, paced the room, and began: "When I first saw you, I thought, 'Now there's a beautiful woman—a woman I need to get to know.' Truly, I was entranced because you _are_ stunning. Once we started talking, I realized you were everything I ever desired in a woman. You had both beauty _and_ brains, and I knew I wanted you. There was a problem, however." He paused, and Mary looked at him quizzically. "You see—God, this is hard—you see, there seems to be an…ailment, for lack of a better word, that has affected some people on my mother's side of the family for generations."

"'Affected' how?" asked Mary tensely. She still was anxious about being alone with Geoff, but she felt she knew what was coming.

"Well, each person is affected somewhat differently, but in my case, it involves…um… unacceptable behavior—you were a victim of that today—rages, and, evidently, forgetfulness. There are times—like today, for example—when I can't seem to control myself. It's as if I black out in a way. I can see myself doing terrible things but can't stop myself. It's odd though. This ailment seems to affect one or two people in each generation, and it always starts around forty years of age. I witnessed my mother's aberrant behavior; her father died in a lunatic asylum when I was very young. Other members of my mother's family describe the same affliction in earlier generations. I avoided attachments because of it, but when I met you..." He smiled wryly. "I suppose it's a kind of curse. I thought I had escaped it, but evidently, I haven't. My brother might have been affected, too, but he died young, in the war, so I'll never know."

"But Geoff, aren't there are doctors who could help? There have been advances in medicine, surely." She was confused. How could he accept that this behavior was something he could live with? Why didn't he do something to rectify the situation?

He smiled wanly and shook his head. "Believe me, Mary, I've seen many doctors and specialists in the past year. There's nothing to be done. It looks as if I'm headed down the same path as many of my relatives on my mother's side."

"Oh, Geoff, I don't know what to say." Mary's heart went out to him. _What a horrifying curse to live with! How unfair!_

"There's nothing to say. I came close to hurting you seriously today, Mary. I'd rather die first. I honestly believed I could fight this, keep it under control, but it's getting worse. I was wrong. You deserve someone who will make you happy, not someone you fear." He moved to the sofa and sat. "Remember the day I came to your home, and…um…that man…was there?"

She answered softly, "His name is Matthew. He's the Earl of Grantham."

"Right. Yes. Matthew. Well, it was all I could do to keep my rage under control because he was with you, and it was obvious that there was something going on. After I left, I realized I could have killed him. In fact, I _wanted_ to kill him and might have had you not been there."

Mary was horrified. "Geoff, nothing really had happened between Matthew and me. We've known each other a long time, and there is some history, but he hurt me a long time ago and…."

"What a fool he was. Look, it's no matter. I know as much as I want you, my condition is sure to worsen, and I won't be able to control myself. You'd be in danger, of that I'm sure. If he could make you happy, you ought to give him a chance. You're too wonderful a woman to miss out on the opportunity to love and be loved. I just wish I could be that man. And as much as it pains me to say this, you need to return to London and forget about me." With that, he took her hand in his, kissed it gently, and walked out of the room.

"I'll return to London, Geoff," she said softly, "but, I promise, I'll never forget you."

* * *

 _Unfortunately, eFAD runs on my father's side of my family, and I can assure you Geoff's behavior is very similar to what some family members have exhibited through the years. Thankfully, my father was spared, as I was, but I've seen first-hand the anguish that results from this horrible disease. Here is some info:_

 _ **From Alzforum**_ _:_ _Early onset familial Alzheimer disease (eFAD) is hereditary and marked by Alzheimer disease symptoms that appear at an unusually early age. Symptoms can start in a person's thirties, forties, and fifties (and very rarely in the late twenties). Generally, if you are diagnosed with eFAD, then one of your parents will also have had it if he or she lived long enough, and your siblings and your children may have a 50-50 chance of having inherited it. early-onset-familial-ad/overview/what-early-onset-familial-alzheimer-disease-efad_

 _ **Characteristics**_ _: P_ _ersonality changes, such as brusqueness and insensitivity; Frequent lapses of memory, especially of recent memories; Forgetting appointments or the names of colleagues at work; Unsettling moments of disorientation in previously familiar places; Being unable to find the way home; Becoming confused about familiar tasks such as handling money or placing a call; Difficulty finding words; Difficulty with voluntary movements, physical coordination; Struggling to learn new things and adapting to changes at home or at work; Losing interest in activities that were enjoyed previously; Withdrawing from social contact; depression; Mood swings, paranoia and fearfulness. Occasionally, a person's symptoms may also include insomnia, verbal or physical outbursts, sexual disorders, gait disorders, and weight loss._


	14. Chapter 14

Mary and Sarah sat quietly in the train compartment on their way back to London. Mary had related some of what happened with Geoff—however, she couldn't bring herself to talk about the details of the attempted rape—and now each was lost in thought. Mary still was shaken after her ordeal. Sore and bruised, she found herself trembling occasionally as she remembered how her passion suddenly turned to terror as Geoff's assault escalated. And then to find out the reason for his behavior—it almost was too much to bear. At one point during the journey, noticing her friend's pale face and unsteadiness, Sarah reached over and clasped Mary's hand.

She had listened sympathetically as Mary related the events of the day and bemoaned the fact that her friend had suffered so, and that, once again, she would find herself alone. "I'll always regret leaving you with him. I feel terrible about it. I'm so sorry you had such a horrifying experience, Mary. You must have been terrified. I was hopeful you'd find the visit rewarding and that you and Geoff could come to some kind of understanding. But his affliction notwithstanding, he seems like such a fine man."

"He _is_ a fine man, I think, and when I was young, I probably would not have rested until I had caught him in my net. But thinking back over my life, I know now that Matthew changed me. As I told you this morning, he's the man against whom every other man is measured. When he was injured during the war, I would have been happy to push his chair for the rest of my life just to have the chance to share my life with him." She closed her eyes, remembering a time when love flowed through her veins unchecked and longing was her constant companion. "Even if Geoff were well, I think I eventually would have come to the conclusion that a commitment to him was not possible. I certainly was flattered by his attention and wanted to get to know him better, but after all these years, I've realized that titles and wealth and land holdings mean nothing, really, if there isn't love to go along with them." She paused, the comprehension settling over her. "If I could help him now, I would, but there's nothing to do, I'm sad to say. As I told him at the station, I want him to keep in touch, but he's right; there's no future for us, and that's not just because of his illness." She smiled wanly at her friend. "As for your going back to the house when you did, you couldn't have known what would happen. God knows I didn't."

"Thank you for that, but I still feel so guilty. Oh, and I understand what you mean about the future, but it's so distressing. I hate the idea of your being alone, Mary, and I'm sorry Matthew hurt you so badly. I suppose I never realized just how affected you were by his marriage."

Mary nodded sadly and remembered Geoff's final words to her about Matthew, which she also had not shared with Sarah: _You ought to give him a chance._

Why?

Wasn't she perfectly fine before she met Geoff?

Wasn't her life satisfactory without Matthew reappearing to complicate things?

Wasn't the solitude of Painswick House preferable to the chaos that resulted from giving her heart to someone who had the potential to break it?

Matthew had hurt her emotionally; Geoff had hurt her physically.

Wasn't she better off without both?

Wasn't she better off alone?

She closed her eyes and was silent for the rest of the trip.

* * *

Matthew stood on the platform and waited anxiously for Mary's train. He had called Painswick House and spoke with Gleason, who, after some cajoling, told him the time she was to arrive. If he truly were honest with himself, he might be making a terrible mistake by being there. He knew she didn't like surprises, and by trying to force her hand, she might spurn him yet again.

 _How will she react when she sees me?_

 _What if she's not on the train?_

 _What if the Duke won her heart?_

 _What if I've lost her forever?_

Still, he felt he had no other choice but to be there. He had resolved to fight for her, and fight for her he would.

* * *

When the train arrived at the station, Mary rose stiffly from her seat. Her back was wrenched, her body was bruised, and her head ached. And she was exhausted. The revelations about Geoff's condition stunned her. She had hoped today would be a pleasant day, and it started off that way, but it ended with her in tears and Geoff in torment. Once again, she longed for the peace Painswick House afforded. She would make an early night of it.

 _Bath._

 _Brandy._

 _Bed._

She stepped from the train, accepted her small bag from the porter, and said goodbye to Sarah, thanking her again for accompanying her on the trip. Sir Stuart greeted them and inquired whether Mary needed a ride home. Assuring him her chauffer knew when the train was to arrive, she kissed Sarah's cheek and moved down the platform, looking among the crowd for her driver's familiar face.

She heard Matthew's voice before she saw him.

* * *

Geoff sat slumped in his chair, his mind churning with thoughts of Mary and how his curse meant he never would have the chance to show her how much he loved her, how much he wanted to share with her the beauty of Northampton and Hanford Hall. He remembered how her body responded to his initial touch and then was repelled by his mounting lust. If he had been able to keep himself under control, she might have given herself to him, allowing them both to experience the pleasure of true lovemaking. He would never forget how the tears ran down her terrified face—

 _All because of him._

 _And his curse._

 _Goddamnit all to hell_.

* * *

Mary turned slowly, and there he was, his lopsided grin denoting his discomfiture in her presence.

"Oh, hello, Matthew," she said wearily. "What are you doing here? Are you meeting someone?"

His grin disappeared, replaced by a look of concern. He immediately noticed her exhaustion, but there was something more; something disturbing had happened to her. He could feel it. "Mary, are you quite all right?" He moved to touch her arm, but she backed away.

She nodded her head briefly, looked at him with tear-filled eyes, and then shook her head.

"My darling, what is it? Please, tell me." _My God, what happened?_

Her chauffeur approached them, and she looked at him and then back at Matthew.

"I just can't talk about it tonight, Matthew. I just can't."

"At least let me escort you home. I promise—no questions. You don't have to talk until you're ready."

She hesitated. "Very well," she sighed, and she took his arm and walked toward the motor.

He noticed how gingerly she stepped into the vehicle, and his insides pitched as he imagined the ill-treatment that could have caused her obvious discomfort. Then he noticed her wrists, the circle of bruises marring her otherwise flawless skin. Mary was too done in to notice his reaction, but if she had, she would have seen his clenched jaw and fiery eyes. _My God, Mary, what did he do to you?_ It was all he could do to keep from tearing to Northampton that evening and murdering that bastard.

* * *

Geoff finished the last of his letters and leaned back into his desk chair. It was late, and the house in which he grew up was silent, save for the occasional popping timber or creaking wall. How was it he'd never noticed those sounds before? Ghosts and voices of former inhabitants, exposed by the flickering candlelight, seemed to imbue the spaces. _Mama. Papa. Colin. Grandfather._ Rubbing his eyes wearily, he stood and went to the window. He looked out upon the moonlit grounds, memories flooding him with melancholy and remorse. How he loved those pristine lawns, manicured gardens, woodland avenues, and the way of life those grounds afforded. He thought again of his dream of Mary and walked back to his desk and opened the top drawer.

* * *

Mary breathed a sigh of relief when Matthew departed for Grantham House. She knew he wanted to hear about her visit to Hanford Hall, but she simply didn't have the strength to talk about it. She thanked him for seeing her home and agreed to a visit the next day after luncheon. She didn't know how or even _if_ she would tell him about what had happened, but she decided to think things through later. Stephens drew her a hot bath, and as she soaked in the soothing water, she took stock of her injuries. Her back was the most painful part of her body—the strain of fighting Geoff and being forced against the tree definitely took its toll. The bruises on her breasts and wrists were quite painful, but the largest and most terrible bruise was on her inner thigh where he had gripped her flesh so hard he almost broke the skin.

She crawled into bed after finishing a small brandy and shivered under the covers. She wanted desperately to sleep—to forget about the day—but her injuries throbbed and her mind raced. Images from the day filled her brain:

 _She recalled Babylon's power and grace as he raced across the grounds._

 _She recalled her panic as Geoff assaulted her body._

 _She recalled how Geoff's expression changed from frenzied to dismayed to defeated._

 _She recalled Matthew's look of love and concern as he left her at her door._

She would see Matthew tomorrow. Dear God, there was so much to talk about, so many conflicts to sort out. His being here, now, might be fortuitous, or it might be unfortunate. Either way, she hoped the day would end better than this one had. Exhaustion washed over her, and she finally slept.

* * *

When Matthew arrived at Painswick House the following afternoon, he was pleased to see Mary looking relatively refreshed although she still was pale. She had on a long-sleeved frock, which he knew was an attempt, albeit an unsuccessful one, to cover her bruised wrists. To his relief, she greeted him warmly, but he could see she had donned her "Lady Mary" mask. They moved into the sitting room where she sat stock still—back straight, face composed, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Seated across from one another, they made polite conversation about Downton, and he filled her in on the latest information he had about Imperial Airlines. Once they had exhausted the small talk, there was an uncomfortable silence.

Finally, Matthew said with a gentle smile, his voice low and steady, "Can you talk about yesterday? Will you trust me enough to tell me what happened?"

The mask fell, and Mary replied quietly, "Yes. I think I can."

She began by telling him about the pleasure she felt when riding Babylon and how much the estate's grounds reminded her of Downton's. She described the weather, the picnic, and Geoff's interest in her opinions. Matthew knew she was struggling to talk about what happened, but he resolved to be patient, allowing her to take her time before getting to the crux of the matter.

She suddenly stood, shaking. "I'm not sure I can talk about the hard thing."

Matthew rose, took her hands, and said softly, "Here's what I know: I love you. Nothing you say—or can't say— will change that. But I also know you're strong and independent and capable. If something has happened to you, I'm here if you need me, but I believe you're resilient enough to handle anything on your own."

She looked directly into shining blue eyes that were filled with love and concern. "Thank you, Matthew." She took a deep breath and began.

* * *

By the time she finished talking, they were sitting together on the sofa, neither of them knowing what to add. She was leaning into him, trembling, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her. He had listened quietly as she talked, asking a few questions but allowing her to take her time. He was incensed at what he heard, but his anger was mollified a bit by learning of the Duke's condition. Still, his blood ran cold when he thought about what might have happened to her. The bruises on her wrists and her obvious back pain were, he felt, only a few of the injuries she must have received at the hands of the Duke. He knew she had omitted some details, but it was clear that Geoff attempted to force himself on her after she had let down her guard. Yet it was obvious she had welcomed his advances initially, which made Matthew uneasy.

Finally, he spoke. He had to ask. "Do you love him?"

 _Please say 'No.'_

"I barely know him. I wasn't pursuing him, honestly."

 _It doesn't matter, but no, I don't love him._

"Then why did you agree to go to Northampton?"

 _I nearly lost my mind knowing you were going there to see him._

"He was so insistent, and I suppose it was the thrill of the unknown. He was so different from...from anyone I'd ever met."

 _He wasn't you. He hadn't hurt me yet._

"It was obvious to me that he cared for you…wanted you."

 _That's why I'm here. I could have killed him I was so jealous._

"Maybe. And I was attracted to him, but it was a superficial attraction. But he did open my eyes to the possibility of letting someone into my life. For that I am grateful, I think."

 _You, Matthew. Always you._

He pulled her closer. "Then, I shall be grateful, too."

 _It's time to talk about us._

* * *

 _Coming up in the next chapter: THE TALK._


	15. Chapter 15

When Beth, the youngest underhousemaid at Hanford House, entered the study to begin her daily chore of dusting, plumping pillows, and such, the odor of cordite had not totally disappeared. She saw the Duke's body slumped in his desk chair, his head leaning awkwardly onto his left shoulder. She was momentarily confused and wondered why he had slept there. She didn't want to wake him, for he looked so peaceful, so composed. It took a few more seconds for her to realize something dreadful had happened. His eyes were open. She saw the trail of blood on his left chest and the pistol on the floor next to his chair, gasped, backed out of the room, and ran to find Mrs. Anders.

* * *

Earlier that day, Mrs. Anders finished giving the Hanford Hall maids their instructions for the day. Those 6:20 a.m. meetings always gave her a sense of satisfaction. Running a house the size of Hanford might be a daunting task for anyone else her age, but she was confident in her abilities. She knew every nook and cranny of the grand house and felt great pride in how beautifully it was maintained. The library needed a good going over, and the south drawing room was badly in need of dusting due to its being overlooked by Edwina the previous day. She was not too critical of her, however, given that Edwina had been assigned to help Lady Sarah, but she still mentioned the chore to ensure it would be done that day.

Once she was alone in her sitting room, she thought again about yesterday's strange events. Lady Mary seemed polished and composed upon her arrival, and she was impressed with her geniality; however, she seemed a different person as she changed back into her traveling clothes after her outing with the Duke. Her composure was replaced with a kind of edginess, and Mrs. Anders noticed bruises on her wrists that she was sure weren't there when Lady Mary arrived that morning. As she helped Lady Mary dress, she also caught a glimpse of a large, angry-looking bruise on the inside of her thigh that she was sure was extremely painful. She hoped against hope that a fall was the cause of these contusions, but Lady Mary did not mention any kind of incident. Judging from the Duke's demeanor upon his return from the station, the visit ended rather badly. He cancelled dinner and retired to his study. No one had seen him since the footman had returned the untouched snifter of cognac to the kitchen late last evening. For months she had seen the Duke's personality change gradually just as his mother's had. Mrs. Anders was brokenhearted at the agony that more than likely was to be his future.

Suddenly, her sitting room door flew open, and Beth, one of the youngest maids on her staff stood breathless in front of her. Her eyes were wild.

"What in the world, Beth?"

"Oh, Mrs. Anders," she sputtered, "the Duke…in the study…I think the Duke is dead!" With that, Beth fell to her knees and remained there as Mrs. Anders called for Simmons and tore past her and up the stairs.

* * *

After Mary related her experience with Geoff, Matthew held her tightly, his mind tormented with thoughts about what _might_ have happened. He resolved to use the moment to bring everything he was feeling to the fore, no matter the result. He took her gently by the shoulders and leaned her against the back of the sofa. He stood and faced her.

"I have some things to say, and I'd like you not to say anything until I'm finished. Can you do that?"

She bit her lip and looked at him evenly. "Very well, Matthew. I'll listen."

He began to pace but never took his eyes off her. "Good. I would give _anything_ to prevent what the Duke did to you. I know you were attracted to him, possibly even wanted him..." Mary started to protest, but he raised his hand. "No, let me say this. I was terrified that he might take you from me before I had a chance to win you back…to prove to you I love you, that I've always loved you—so much, so much. Until recently, I was so concerned with my own pain, I couldn't recognize yours. I've said and done so many stupid, selfish things…. So, first, I need to apologize for the many, many mistakes I've made over the years. I'm sorry for not realizing that the way you nursed me when I was injured showed how much you loved me. And I never thanked you, not once, and that is unforgivable. I'm sorry for thinking I could replace you with Lavinia and parading her in front of you as if to prove you didn't matter anymore. I didn't try to understand…I didn't even ask, really, why you refused me."

"I didn't give you much of a chance, if you'll recall." She closed her eyes, the memory of that painful time flowing over her.

"Shhhh. No matter. I should have trusted that you had a reason. I should have been patient. Instead, I let my pride get in the way instead of fighting for you, for _us_ , and I convinced myself that I didn't need you, that I didn't need an emotional attachment to anyone. Instead, I found someone uncomplicated who loved me much, much more than I loved her. When I brought Lavinia to Downton that first time, I knew I had made a terrible mistake, but I couldn't admit it. I couldn't bring myself to break my promise to her despite that knowledge. I thought keeping that promise was the honorable thing, but I know now the _truly_ honorable thing would have been to admit I didn't love her…to let her go…so she wouldn't be married to someone who would make her life miserable."

He stopped pacing and looked at her fixedly. "There wasn't a day during the war—and during my marriage—that I didn't think of you and mourn the loss of what we might have had. I was a fool, Mary, and because of my foolishness, everyone was unhappy—you, Lavinia, me—and there was nothing to be done."

He inhaled deeply and held his head as if to force out a particularly painful memory. "And when you were engaged to Carlisle, I nearly lost my mind. It was obvious you didn't love him, but I never did anything to deter you even though I knew it was my fault you accepted him. I heard him threaten you and did nothing. I saw him grab hold of you and did nothing. I saw your look of misery whenever he came near you and did nothing. I thought it wasn't my place to interfere, but I was wrong. I should have protected you. I should have punched him the first time I saw him put his hands on you. You had the courage to break your engagement, more courage than I _ever_ had, and you did it knowing full well what the repercussions would be! I remember thinking that only someone who truly was brave could do such a thing."

He continued pacing and running his hands through his hair as he spoke. "You know, how Lavinia mustered the courage to leave, I'll never know. I couldn't have done that to her despite wishing for it almost every day of our marriage. She told me recently that when you left Downton all those years ago you took half of me with you. She was right. I was bereft when you left. Again, I was thinking only of myself; I told myself you were leaving out of spite, but I knew, I _knew_ , I had driven you away. I lost the best part of myself—I lost you. I know I hurt you so terribly, and I'll regret that for the rest of my life. From the moment I first met you, I always was confident you had the strength to bear anything, but you never should have had to bear what I did to you. I robbed you of your home, your family, and God, Mary, your rightful future! Your strength and resilience allowed you to become a fully independent woman, confident and successful, and capable of making a life for yourself, no thanks to me. You found your way forward in spite of your pain; you were so much stronger than I was…." His voice broke, and he paused, unable to go on.

As Matthew spoke, Mary felt the weight of the years of anger and regret lift from her shoulders. She tried to hold back her tears and was successful until he mentioned her strength. "Matthew, I know I agreed to listen, but I must say this. Yes, I made a life for myself, but what other choice did I have? Aunt Rosamund's bequest gave me a way out. If she hadn't left me this house, I shudder to think what would have become of me. Thank God I was able to leave Downton. I couldn't have borne watching you love another; I couldn't have borne living near you, knowing I had to play the part of the spinster cousin, when I ached for you so. You had made your choice, so I was forced to make mine. My London life was created out of desperation; my absence from Downton was solely for self-protection. I accepted your marriage to Lavinia—don't think for a minute _you_ weren't strong for honoring your commitment. It had to be difficult if what you say is true. For all I knew, she had made you happy, and I couldn't bear watching that on a daily basis. My strength was born of necessity."

She paused and then whispered brokenly, "I had to be strong to survive not having you."

Matthew went to the couch and gathered her into his arms. They clung to each other, grasping clothing and stroking skin as tears flowed unchecked. Mary's wracking sobs were muffled by Matthew's chest; his own tears dropped into her hair. Neither of them was willing to let go of the other, so they sat together, rocking and caressing as the mantle clock chimed first the hour, then the half hour. Matthew finally found his voice, although his throat was constricted from strain, "I've loved you from the first moment I saw you. My darling, I don't know what you will decide about us, but trust this: I will continue to love you until the last breath leaves my body."

He barely could discern her hushed reply. "Oh, Matthew, me, too."

Hearing that, he tightened his embrace and whispered, "Thank God."

* * *

Geoff had prepared carefully for the chaos that would result from his suicide. In the middle of his desk was a neatly-stacked pile of letters for his solicitors, his successor, his mother's sister, his extended family, Simmons, and Mrs. Anders. On the left side of his desk, estate papers were organized into categories according to their subjects: grounds, holdings, livestock, deeds, and other matters pertinent to the estate. His will was on the right side of his desk; clipped to it was an envelope addressed to Mary and a hand-written codicil, signed and witnessed by the footman who had tried to serve him his cognac the night before ( _I signed it because he told me it had to be mailed today, so he needed me to witness it. I had no idea….)_.

* * *

In the late afternoon, Matthew returned to Grantham House to change for dinner with Mary. Apologizing to Mary was cathartic—unburdening himself as he did gave him the sense that finally his life was on the right path. And she confessed that she loved him, too! He was ecstatic that they had come to a kind of understanding about the future, agreeing that discretion was called for because his divorce wasn't yet final, and neither of them wanted to distress Lavinia or cause a stir by appearing together in public until an appropriate amount of time had passed. For now it was enough that they had acknowledged their love; the rest, as he noted jokingly, was just detail. They made no plans. They refrained from physical intimacy, content simply to be together—to be able to talk openly. He felt like a new man, quashing regret and replacing it with hope.

Although she had experienced a roller coaster of emotions during the past twenty-four hours, Mary, too, was euphoric. Matthew's apology freed her, instilling in her the awareness that finally, _finally_ , the wall she had built around her heart could be taken down. It was harder than she could have imagined, sitting there listening to his apology pour out and wash over her. But as it poured out, it cleansed her of her animosity, her doubt, her despair. Here was her Matthew, loving her, wanting her, and she was ready to reciprocate. From the moment she knew she loved him all those years ago, her longing for him had been profound. Now they could be together, of this she was sure, but the logistics would be difficult before final decisions could be made. She couldn't think about the minutiae right now, though. She was too happy.

* * *

Mary and Matthew couldn't have described the meal they ate although they both were served several courses and complimented the cook's skill. They were too wrapped up in each other, deep brown eyes returning the gaze of intense blue ones, smiles revealing the pleasure of being together unencumbered by secrets, pain, or denial. The candlelight's ambience added to the meal's romance—skin looked softer, eyes shined brighter, mouths were more inviting. They watched each other as they ate:

watched as facial muscles moved

watched as graceful hands held cutlery

watched as shadows accentuated the curves of necks.

When Matthew and Mary looked at one another, they saw how the wrenching pain they each had felt for years had been transformed miraculously into exhilaration.

The flush of Mary's skin was heightened by the way Matthew kept looking at her. He thought she was a vision in the tapers' flickering lights, and it was all he could do to keep from rubbing his hands against the silk that floated over her body when they moved from the dining room to the sitting room. Stephens had pulled the black Chanel column dress Mary had worn for the first time when she and Geoff had dined at the Richardson's home. As much as Mary loved the dress, she decided she would be tempting fate to wear it to this first dinner with Matthew, so she selected this Chanel frock, a midnight blue, sleeveless silk chemise with a dropped waist and deep back that flattered her slim figure. If she had asked Matthew his opinion about this choice, he would have approved wholeheartedly…if he could have found his voice.

They sat together on the sofa, the site of their afternoon encounter, only this time the room's atmosphere was charged with romantic electricity rather than profound emotion. He sat with one arm around her, his fingers softly playing across the skin of her upper arm, as he balanced a glass of whisky on his knee with his other hand.

"What are you thinking?" she asked as she raised her hand to lace her fingers in his.

Placing his lips on her temple and murmuring into her skin, he replied, "I'm thinking that we have a great deal of lost time to make up for. What are you thinking?"

"That I've never been happier," she sighed and closed her eyes as his lips continued to brush her skin, "or more nervous."

"Nervous? Why, my darling?"

"Think about it, Matthew. Any time we ever were together, something happened to pull us apart. Who knows what might be coming?"

He set his whisky on a side table, turned to face her, and ran a finger gently across her cheek. _So soft, so beautiful._ "Mary, I believe we've reached the point where we won't allow anything to come between us ever again. God knows since we met, we've experienced more than our fair share of anguish. We deserve to be happy, and we're going to be, I promise."

She took his face in her hands, looked deeply into his eyes, and kissed him tenderly, her lips accepting the promise he had made.

They were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone.


	16. Chapter 16

Mrs. Anders's telephone call to Mary was brief. The Duke was dead. Suicide. She thought Mary would want to know.

Matthew remained on the sofa when Mary took the call in her study. He finished his drink, thinking about the absolute miracle that had occurred that day, and waited for her to return to the room. After a few minutes, he rose to find her rocking on a bench in the hallway, her arms around her middle, a sick look on her ashen face.

He knelt beside her, his hands on her arms. "What's wrong, my darling? What has happened?"

She looked at him, despair pooling in her eyes. "He's dead. Oh, Matthew, Geoff killed himself, and it's all my fault."

"Who was that on the telephone, Mary? Is that what you were told?" He was incredulous at this turn of events. Mary had told him about the Duke's condition, but this… _this_ ….was totally unexpected.

"It was Mrs. Anders, the head housekeeper at Hanford Hall. She thought I would want to know and apologized for waiting so late to call. She said he shot himself late last night, that he seemed distraught after I left, and he must have planned this because he left letters and instructions. His body wasn't found until this morning. Oh, God, I should have done something; I should have _said_ something." She pounded her fists on her thighs, her voice cracking with abject despair. "How upset he must have been with me. I wish I could go back…."

He had her stand and brought her hands to his chest. "And do what, Mary? This is _not_ your fault, my love. You said he had lost control, that he wasn't in his right mind when he assaulted you. There's nothing you could have done to prevent this."

"But Matthew…."

Drawing her into his arms and holding her chin in his hand, he said firmly, "Listen to me, Mary, you cannot take this on. I won't let you. Don't you think he probably realized what his future would be like? I'm not saying it was the right thing to do, but don't you think he knew what he did to you was only a hint of what was to come? My darling, he killed himself to be free of the cursed existence—the demons—he eventually would face. You said yourself there is no cure, that this condition has affected members of his family for generations. His death is _not_ your fault. _He_ made the decision. _He_ is responsible, not you."

She leaned into him. "But it's so unfair," she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks and onto Matthew's shirt.

"I know, my darling, I know."

They stood in the hallway and clung together, locked in each other's arms.

Matthew caressed the length of her back, feeling the softness of her silk dress and the trembling of her shoulders. God knows she had experienced enough pain at his hands; now someone else had caused her pain again.

 _Please believe how sorry I am, my darling. Please let me help. Please don't let this get in the way of us._

Mary relaxed into Matthew's embrace, but her mind recalled the image of Geoff's miserable face as her train pulled away.

 _Oh, Geoff, Geoff, I'm so sorry. Life was so unjust to you._

Matthew leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I love you, Mary. What do you need me to do?"

"Honestly, Matthew, I just don't know. I don't know what I should do. Should I go to Northampton for the service?"

"Here's what I think: give yourself some time to sort this out. You've been through so much. This is a shock, and you need to rest. You can make a decision tomorrow when your head is clearer. Just know, whatever you decide to do, I'll support you."

"Thank you, Matthew. This is not how I wanted our evening to end, you know that. Will you stay with me a little longer, though?"

"Of course, my darling, as long as you need."

They walked together, their arms still around each other, back to the comfort of the sofa. They sat together, his arm in its familiar position around her shoulders.

"Matthew?"

"Yes, my love?"

"What you said earlier today…about all the things you were sorry for."

"What about it?"

"Well, I'm to blame for so much of what went wrong with us."

"No, Mary, no…Why would you say such a thing?"

She looked up at him. "But it's true, Matthew. All of our problems stemmed from my not revealing the story about Pamuk to you. I was such a fool not to tell you, but I just was so afraid you'd walk away, that I'd lose you…afraid you would despise me…and find me disreputable…but I lost you anyway. By the time you knew the reason for my not telling you, it was too late."

"I admit I was shocked, but I never would have…never could have…despised you or found you wanting in any way. You must believe me, Mary. It's not as if you invited him into your bedroom."

"But don't you see? I keep causing such heartache—for myself and for others. Because I was so young and inexperienced, the only thing I knew to do about what happened with Pamuk was to keep it a secret. I believed Mama when she told me I was 'damaged goods.' Oh, I wanted to tell you, but I …I…was so afraid. And coming back on the train yesterday, I knew I never could be with Geoff…or love him…and I just left without telling him. I know he must have thought I left because of his condition, not because I didn't feel for him what he felt for me."

"Mary, this is your grief talking. Your telling Geoff about how you felt wouldn't have changed a thing. Whatever pain he was experiencing was a result of his mental condition, not because of anything you said or didn't say. As for what happened with Pamuk, I understand why you felt you couldn't tell me. God, it had been drilled into you that you'd be ruined if something like that ever happened, but you know as well as I do that his coming to your room wasn't your fault. I _never_ would have blamed you for that!" He gripped both of her hands in his. "As for your not telling me at the time, it's understandable if you thought I'd reject you. Why wouldn't you think that? My God, Mary, 'damaged goods'? What a horrible burden you had to bear! Do I wish you had told me? Of course, I do. But I wasn't patient enough then to wait until you _could_ tell me, and that's my fault. My darling, what's done is done. Please don't let Geoff's death or regrets about the past get in the way of our being together. We've found each other again, and that means _everything_."

"Oh, Matthew, what you've _said_ means everything. I've lived with regret so long I've forgotten what it's like just to be content…and happy. The fact that you love me despite my faults, well, means more than you'll ever know.

As they sat together, she leaned against him, her cheek on his heart, and he held her tenderly, thanking God she loved him enough to let him share her pain.

* * *

He went with her to Northampton for Geoff's service, standing quietly by her side as she paid her respects to his family and admiring her quiet elegance. She was beautiful in her composure, and it occurred to him that he should not be surprised that Geoff attempted to win her heart. _Who wouldn't?_ he thought to himself. She was exquisite. He was relieved that she had moved past her feelings of guilt, but he accepted, also, her sadness about Geoff's death. She told him she had been attracted to Geoff, which generated in Matthew a twinge of jealousy, but he pushed that feeling away, completely trusting in her love. After the service they attended a quiet reception at Hanford Hall, and Mary sought out Mrs. Anders to express her condolences. The housekeeper was touched at Mary's thoughtfulness and thanked her tearfully, thinking to herself that Mary would have made an ideal Duchess had things been different. Matthew, too, noted how Mary's beauty and grace would have been a perfect match for the beauty of Hanford Hall, and he became more determined than ever that she would be Downton's Countess instead.

* * *

Matthew returned to Downton the day after Geoff's service, citing the demands of the estate, but he promised to return when Cora arrived from America in order to escort her back to Downton. He was hopeful Mary would travel with them. During his week in London, he'd been elated just to be able to spend time with Mary and very willingly helped her cope with her feelings about Geoff's death. They spent quiet evenings together, and each night he returned to Grantham House more hopeful than ever about their future. Mary was sorry to see him leave for Downton, but she, too, needed time to herself to sort out some business affairs she had neglected. Finally being together filled them both with great pleasure, but they agreed to take things slowly until a suitable amount of time had passed after Matthew's divorce. Just being able to hold Mary's hand or caress her cheek allowed Matthew to feel unbounded happiness. Mary, too, found herself content to sit with Matthew, his arm around her shoulders, and to enjoy the comfort of his whispered kisses. As difficult as it was to bear, Matthew was determined not to press for intimacy until Mary indicated she was ready. The desperation he'd felt previously was gone, pushed aside by his deep love for her, and he knew they would be together eventually. And he _would_ propose—of that he was sure—but he wanted the proposal to take place somewhere that was special to them both, so he resolved to wait for the perfect time and place.

* * *

Cora arrived from America in mid-September and was surprised to see both Mary and Matthew waiting to greet her at the pier. In the few letters she had exchanged with Mary, her daughter had not mentioned Matthew's name, so she was curious about this turn of events.

"Mama, welcome home," Mary said as she embraced her mother, noting her improved appearance and stylish dress. Cora's visit to America had done her a world of good although she realized returning to Downton would be painful. But Downton was her home despite Robert's absence, and she looked forward to being with her family again.

"Thank you, my darling. I'm glad to be back," Cora replied. She broke the embrace and looked at Matthew. "Matthew, how are you? Have you come to escort me back to Downton?"

"Yes, Cora, I have. And Mary is coming with us." The grin on his face told Cora everything she needed to know.

"That's right, Mama. And you won't believe it, but I've convinced Sybil and Tom to come for a visit. I told her it was time we met Deaglan, and she agreed. They'll arrive this Friday."

"Oh, Mary! How wonderful." Cora had longed to meet her newest grandchild, and it had been too long since she had seen Saoirse and Breandan. This news definitely was a wonderful welcome home gift, and they all hoped it would make Robert's absence more bearable for her.

When they arrived at Painswick House, Cora went upstairs to rest, leaving Mary and Matthew to have tea in the library. "She looks wonderful," said Matthew. "It looks as if the trip was good for her."

"I hope so," replied Mary. "Losing Papa so suddenly was a blow. They had been married for so long. I can't imagine…." She stopped as her voice caught. "You know," she said softly, "they were married for almost thirty-seven years—their whole adult lives, really. It's going to be hard for her."

"Yes, it will be, but she'll figure out a way to manage. You Crawley women are very resilient. And she'll have Mother and Violet, who you know will offer advice, no matter whether Cora asks for it," he chuckled.

Mary laughed. "Oh, yes. Granny and Isobel are always quick to make their opinions known, even when they're not solicited. You realize they must have become fast friends although I'm sure both would deny it! Granny's letters always are filled with news of their shenanigans."

"I wondered about that. Mother seems to be spending a great deal of time at the Dower House lately."

"Speaking of houses, we still don't know what Mama has decided about where she will live."

"She'd be welcome to stay at the Abbey. It's such a big house; it would be no trouble for her to live there. I could re-purpose a wing for her if she'd like."

"Oh, no, Matthew. That just isn't done. Granny would have a fit, and I suspect Mama would be uncomfortable living there now. She must decide something, though, and soon."

Matthew looked pensive for a moment and then looked at her wide eyed. "I think I have an idea."

"Really? What is it?"

"No, I need to think this through first. I promise, I'll share it if I can make it work."

"Very well, but you're being very secretive."

He grinned. "Well, I've always considered myself a man of mystery."

"Yes. Indeed." She rolled her eyes. "You're about as mysterious as a bucket, my love."

Matthew feigned unconsciousness, falling back against the back of the sofa. "How you wound me! Just you wait and see, Mary. You'll eat those words someday."

"If I haven't starved first," she replied. Smiling, she leaned into him for a kiss, which he gladly bestowed.

* * *

Matthew did not stay for dinner, which allowed Mary and Cora time to talk and still have an early night. Mary told her about Geoff's suicide and related how supportive Matthew had been as she dealt with her feelings about his death. Cora noted that she had been impressed with Geoff and expressed her astonishment at the story. She knew of ailments that ran in families but was shocked to hear about the nature of Geoff's. "Thank goodness he didn't hurt you badly. From what you've told me, it might have been much worse." Mary nodded, glad that she had left out most of the upsetting details. Her bruises had faded, but her back still gave her trouble if she stood too long. As they continued to talk, Cora discovered that her suspicions about Mary and Matthew were correct. She agreed with their decision to be discreet as their relationship progressed. "It's the look of the thing that matters, Mary, as you well know."

"Absolutely, Mama. Besides, Matthew doesn't want Lavinia to be humiliated although she was the one who left. I agree with him. I always liked Lavinia, despite everything, so I don't wish her ill."

"I must ask, though. Are you sure Matthew will make you happy? You were so miserable for so long. I hate to think he might hurt you again."

Mary's eyes filled with tears as she looked directly at Cora. "I never knew I could be so happy. Mama, I thought I had lost him forever. It's as if I've come alive again."

* * *

 _Next time: Sybil, Tom, and their children visit Downton!_


	17. Chapter 17

For Mary, being back at the Abbey felt entirely different from the last time she had been there. Of course, her father's absence affected the atmosphere, but she hadn't felt so at home since she was a girl. Except for her childhood and early adolescence, most of what she experienced living in the Abbey brought her some kind of unhappiness—

 _The entail brought misery_

 _Kemal brought terror_

 _The war brought chaos_

 _Matthew's injury brought anxiety_

 _Lavinia brought disappointment_

 _Richard brought dread_

 _Matthew's wedding brought despair_

Now, the house and grounds welcomed her. She felt neither burden nor distress. Everything looked fresher, newer, brighter. After Stephens helped her out of her traveling clothes, she washed off the dust from the train, donned a simple blouse and skirt, applied some No. 5, and hurried downstairs where she found Matthew waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. She caught her breath when she saw him. His azure eyes looked at her with such adoration and expectancy it was all she could do to keep from throwing herself into his arms. She felt herself beaming all the way down the stairs, and when he took her hand, they both looked down expecting to see sparks.

He kissed her cheek and asked, "Would you like to see the flower gardens I wrote you about? The fall blooms are especially beautiful right now." He grinned. "I think they knew you were coming."

The rumble of his voice reverberated up her spine. "Yes, please. Of course."

She took his arm, and they walked together from the house into a veritable jewelry box of color.

"Oh, Matthew, how beautiful! What amazing colors!" There were her favorite lavender asters, so bright they almost hurt her eyes, which were complemented by lemon-colored plumbago and white anemones. Dahlias and coneflowers swayed in the breeze, and the paths were lined with phlox and verbena. There was color everywhere she looked, and she nearly was overcome with the beauty of it all. She couldn't resist gathering a few Michalmas daisies to take back into the house, so she let go of Matthew's arm and walked among the flowers selecting the blooms.

Matthew watched her as she moved about the garden and bent gracefully to catch the scent of a bloom or to look closer at the petals of an especially luminous flower. When she turned to smile at him, her face lit by the sunlight, his heart leapt to see her so happy, and he thought to himself _This is what I've been waiting for—to make her happy, to be with her always._ He plucked a single anemone, walked over to her, and placed the stem behind her ear. Her hand met his, and they gazed into each other's eyes with such love and yearning, he almost was tempted to take her right there. In all the years he had loved her, he had never felt such an intense longing. She felt it, too, and whispered his name as they came together in a kiss so intense it was a wonder it didn't wilt the flowers they were standing among.

* * *

There was a flurry of activity in the house before Sybil and Tom's arrival. The nursery was quickly refurbished to accommodate three children although if Sybil had been asked, she would have told them baby Deaglan's cradle needed to be placed in the room with Tom and her in order to facilitate his nightly feedings. Nevertheless, all was in order as family and staff awaited them, eager to reconnect with the most vivacious of the Crawley girls. It was decided that Mary and Matthew would meet the train, which made Edith pout a little despite Cora's admonishment that she had no intention of trying to sooth Edith's children as they bawled for their mama.

For once, the train was on time, and it was all Mary could do to keep from screaming Sybil's name when she spotted her grinning face at the window as the train pulled into the station. Instead, she held Matthew's hand in a near death grip, causing him much pain and great amusement.

"Oh, there they are! Oh, Sybil, my darling girl!" She and Sybil grabbed each other and hugged as if they were long-lost sisters, each of them laughing and wiping away tears as Matthew and Tom looked on, amused but touched.

Tom shifted Deaglan into his left arm, and shook Matthew's hand enthusiastically. Matthew looked down at the two auburn-haired children standing next to their father. "So, this can't be Saoirse and Breandan! I hardly recognized you two, you have grown so much!" Six-year-old Saoirse held her younger brother's hand and smiled sweetly. Her Cousin Matthew, with his bright eyes and dimples, always seemed so happy to see her, so as he bent over, she gave him a shy kiss on the cheek. She encouraged her brother to shake hands with his cousin, jerking his sticky hand, lately full of peppermint, forward toward Matthew. "Well, it's good to see you, Breandan," Matthew laughed, wiping what he could of the stickiness onto the leg of his trousers. He turned to Tom. "How was the trip?"

"Fine, if you don't mind having to entertain a wailing and restive brood across what seemed like a _continent_ ," Tom answered wryly. Laughing, he caught a glance of his wife, still caught in her sister's embrace. "Honestly, she's been as excited about this visit as I've ever seen her. You'd think they hadn't seen each other in decades."

"Mary was the same, that's for certain. I've never seen anyone so obsessed with flower arrangements and menus and furniture placement." Their conversation was interrupted when they each found themselves seized by one of the sisters.

"Oh, Tom," Mary cried, "It's so wonderful to see you. It's been too long." She planted a kiss on his cheek as she hugged him. He chuckled as he adjusted his hold on the baby to keep him from being smothered by his aunt's embrace. She then kneeled down to face the children, who smiled broadly at her greeting. In their eyes, their Aunt Mary was a taller, thinner version of their mother, though certainly not as jovial. She could be counted on, though, to read wonderful stories to them, and she always smelled so good! As they left the train, they noticed she was holding hands with their Cousin Matthew. _This was something they must remember to ask Mam and Da about._

"Matthew, you're as handsome as ever!" exclaimed Sybil. "I'm so happy for you and Mary. It's about time." She gave him a punch in his belly, which caused him to blush mightily.

"Really, Sybil," admonished Tom. "Leave the poor man alone."

"It's quite all right, Tom. I suppose I deserve it," Matthew said, rubbing the spot gingerly.

"Indeed you do," she retorted as she hugged him again.

Matthew and Tom left to get the baggage sorted, leaving Mary and Sybil to tend the children. Mary leaned in to see Deaglan. "Oh, Sybil, he's beautiful."

"Don't let Tom hear you say that," Sybil snorted. "He'd say he's handsome, not beautiful."

"Well, he's both, then. And so big already." She looked down at Saoirse and Breandan. "What do you think of your fine brother?"

Breandan spoke seriously, "He cries and shits all the time."

"Breandan!" Sybil was horrified at her son's frankness. Mary nearly lost her breath laughing.

"Well, that's what Da says, isn't it, Saoirse?"

His sister nodded grimly. _Little brothers could be very annoying, and now she had two._

After Matthew and Tom helped the chauffeur load the baggage, the group piled into the motor and headed to Downton. Raised voices and peals of laughter rang as the Crossley made its way down the road to the crowd watching eagerly for its arrival.

* * *

Once everyone else had retired for the night, Mary and Sybil sat together in the library. Wiping the tears from Sybil's face, Mary assured her that no one blamed her for not coming to their papa's funeral.

"It couldn't be helped, Sybil. Everyone realized that. We knew you would've been here if it were at all possible. Besides, it hadn't been too long since you'd last seen Papa. That's the memory you should hold on to."

"I know, Mary. I just feel bad that you ended up having to handle it all. Was Edith any help at all?"

"Actually, she was a great help with Mama, very supportive—when she wasn't sobbing herself."

Sybil giggled. "That's our Edith." She then added soberly, "Still, it was so hard not being here. Will you go with me to the churchyard tomorrow? I need to say 'goodbye' to Papa properly."

"Of course, darling. Whenever you want to go."

"Thank you. Now, tell me more about you and Matthew. I'm just so happy for you! Mama's letters all these years never hinted at trouble, but every time I visited, I knew things were awful between Lavinia and him. How long are you staying in Downton? Are you going to marry? And what's this about a duke?"

Mary laughed at Sybil's rapid-fire comments and questions. "One topic at a time, please!"

"Very well. Start with the duke, then, since he appears to be out of the picture."

As Mary related what had transpired since Robert's death, the sisters held hands and intermittently laughed and cried about it all. Mary told her the details about her encounters with Geoff, and Sybil remained silent, watching her sister carefully. She was incensed about what he had put her sister through but made Mary laugh as she described in rather graphic detail what she would have done to Geoff if she had been given a chance, his "ailment" notwithstanding. Sybil knew her sister better than anyone else did and had observed her steely façade thicken over the years. Sybil wasn't fooled, though. She witnessed first-hand how Matthew's marrying Lavinia devastated Mary. She knew what it meant to marry the love of _her_ life, so she ached because her sister suffered so. She thought it curious that Mary finally showed an interest in someone else only after being in Matthew's presence for the first time in years. Although she was horrified by what Mary experienced with Geoff, she felt it was, in a way, the thing that allowed Mary to drop her resistance to Matthew's attempts to win her heart.

"So, now what?" Sybil asked.

"What do you mean?"

Sybil's eyes danced as she asked, "I mean, are you going to marry Matthew?"

Mary sighed, "Honestly, Sybil, I just don't know. For one thing, he hasn't asked. When we're together, it feels so right, so perfect, but it would change my life in so many ways. As much as I used to want the title, I don't want to be the Countess of Grantham if would mean I'd have to give up all I've gained living in London. I simply couldn't do that."

Sybil was indignant. "Humph! Why should you? You don't have to live the kind of life Mama and Granny lived. Things are changing, Mary, not just for women but for aristocrats in general. There's no reason you couldn't continue to be an independent and successful woman—you'd just have Matthew by your side. From what you've told me, I think he values you as much as he loves you. He will need help modernizing the estate, and you have just as much ability as he does. You could be partners, not just lovers. If he doesn't realize that already, he will."

"Oh, I think he knows I'm good at what I do…."

"Then don't worry about losing what you've worked so hard for! It's time you and Matthew were together. I know you love him, and he loves you. God, Mary, you've both suffered enough! From what you've told me, he'll do _anything_ to atone for what he did to you. I watched him endure being married to the wrong woman; you weren't here, or you would know just how miserable he was—how miserable they both were. Every time I'd visit, it just seemed worse. When Tom and I visited a couple of years ago, Matthew and I were talking in the library, and all he could do was ask how you were, what was going on in your life, and I knew then he still loved you."

Sybil's confirmation of what Mary knew about herself and her feelings for Matthew relieved Mary of her doubts. She would marry Matthew if he asked, but she would insist that they be true partners in every aspect of their life together. She felt it was the only way they truly could be happy. She hoped he agreed.

* * *

The week the Bransons were at Downton was filled with wonderful chaos. Laughter was the order of the day—at meals, in the family rooms, in the hallways. Saoirse and Breandan brought Edith's shy older daughter Caroline out of her shell—even Granny could not hold back her amusement at her Finnian great-children's antics. Surrounded by her grandchildren, a baby nestled in her arms, Cora was in her element, but at times the others observed a shadow moving over her face, but it quickly dissipated when she felt Breandan's sweet kiss on her cheek.

Sybil's watchful eyes took in how Mary had changed from a dispassionate, careful woman into one who was warm and demonstrative. When she watched Mary and Matthew together, she was thrilled to see the kind of love she herself experienced with Tom, and she knew, finally, that they had found the love both had longed for. Mary had been restored to the Mary of Sybil's childhood—laughing, passionate, and saucy. The sadness that had emanated from her for years was replaced by joyfulness, and Sybil reveled in the knowledge that her sister had found true happiness at last. Matthew, too, seemed to have found peace. Gone was the tense and forlorn man who seemed merely to exist in the vacuum of duty, replaced by a man filled with life and fulfillment. She also noted that the animosity between Edith and Mary had eased, supplanted by a kind of camaraderie Sybil hadn't seen in decades, which she was sure was a direct result of Mary's joy and Edith's contentment. As the three sisters sat together late in the evenings, Sybil's throaty laugh rang as Mary told stories of dealing with stuffy London businessmen terrified of her temper, and Edith regaled her sisters with tales of driving over the countryside with a terrified Antony in the passenger seat of his favorite Rolls Royce. Sybil's life with Tom might be worlds away from life at Downton, but now she and Mary and Edith could share a common bond—they each loved and were loved by wonderful men.

On sunny afternoons Saoirse and Breandan romped on the lawn with Caroline, giving Andromeda the best exercise she'd had since Matthew acquired her. Mary, Sybil, and Edith sat together on blankets, and Mary observed how naturally her sisters cuddled their infants and laughed at their other children's antics. She watched as Matthew and Tom played with the children, swinging them about and looking very much like the adolescents they once were. Even Sir Anthony seemed to shed several years when he held little Caroline in his one good arm.

 _How Matthew would love having children of his own._

 _Would it be possible?_

 _She wasn't getting any younger._

Mary often found herself daydreaming about what her life with Matthew would be like, and she wished for nothing more than the kind of bliss her sisters seemed to have found. She had spent the last seven years alone, not trusting that the kind of happiness her sisters had ever could be hers. Now she believed it was a possibility, and every time she looked into Matthew's eyes, she knew that he believed it, too.


	18. Chapter 18

The day after the Bransons returned to Ireland, Matthew sat at breakfast thinking about the previous few days. As much as he enjoyed the Bransons' company, he was glad things would get back to normal. For one thing, their visit had interfered with Mary and him having time alone. She had been so caught up with Sybil—talking late into the night, taking walks around the estate, playing with the children—that he found himself frustrated he was unable to do little more than sit with her at meals and watch longingly as she moved from one activity to another. They exchanged glances but little else although he did manage to steal a kiss in the library one rainy afternoon as Sybil and Tom were called to referee a dispute between their two hot-tempered offspring. Mary was curled up on the settee, engrossed in a novel, her face cradled in her hand, which reminded him of the line from _Romeo and Juliet:_ " _Oh, that I_ were a _glove upon that hand_. That I _might_ touch that cheek!" She was startled as he plopped down beside her, closed the novel, and took her face in his hands.

"Did you notice?" he whispered.

"Notice what?" she replied breathlessly.

"We're alone." His eyes darkened.

"Yes." Her lips parted.

The kiss was intense, both of them overcome by the heat of the moment, fingers searching for skin, breaths released, passion building.

The spell was shattered when Sybil entered the library muttering under her breath something about "indulgent Irish fathers who leave discipline to harried English mothers."

They broke apart, looked at each other, and laughed out loud, causing Sybil, her hands on her hips, to ask indignantly, "And just what's so blasted funny?"

Their laughter continued for some time.

* * *

Matthew had neglected a few estate chores during the Bransons' visit and had scheduled a meeting with the estate's agent John Forbes and an architect after breakfast that morning to discuss renovations to the Dower House. For he had a plan, one that he had to set into motion if he were to accommodate Cora's needs and solidify his own plans for the future.

It had occurred to him that Crawley House would be perfect for Cora once it had been spruced up a bit, so before the Bransons' arrival, he had approached his mother and Violet about sharing the Dower House if it could be renovated to satisfaction of both. It was much larger than Crawley House and would lend itself to the comfort of two occupants if renovations were done well. He realized each woman had lived alone almost longer than either had been married, so he knew he had to approach them gently and cite the myriad reasons their living in the same house would be advantageous to each. To his surprise, they agreed immediately as long as they had the final say about the architectural and design changes, so he set about hiring the best architect he could find who met with them to discuss their needs. If he were honest, he was surprised they were so amenable, but it was obvious their bickering provided them with enjoyment rather than annoyance for the most part. He saw immediately that their desire for companionship outweighed any doubt they might have about sharing the home.

Cora, too, was pleased with the idea and admitted that moving into a renovated Crawley House would be the perfect transition for her. As much as she loved living in the Abbey, she suspected that her place as Countess soon would be filled by her daughter, and her own memories of adjusting to her role as a Robert's countess-to-be while living with her in-laws were what prompted her to accept Matthew's proposal gratefully. If Mary were to be Countess of Grantham, she needed to find her way unimpeded by the former Countess's presence. Matthew assured her she could take any of the Abbey's servants with her—with the exception of Carson and Mrs. Hughes—and she looked forward to staffing her new home with familiar faces. Matthew swore the three women to secrecy until he was able to tell Mary himself. This idea was step one in his plan to bring Mary back to Downton for good.

Mary was late for breakfast, so when she finally swept into the dining room, Matthew cocked an eyebrow and asked, "Did you oversleep? Really, Mary, it must be nice not to have pressing engagements that would get you out of bed at a decent hour."

"Oh, ho," came her retort. "Don't you _dare_ criticize me since you were the one who kept me up all hours arguing the merits of nationalizing the coal industry."

"Well, I think it's a _good_ idea. Besides, I wouldn't consider what we did real arguing since half the time I had my arms around you." He smiled at the memory. The fact that she was strong and brave and impossibly brilliant filled him with pride and longing. He loved that they were able to discuss topics as equals, even if it meant the occasional heated argument.

"You were just trying to distract me from the subject at hand," she said haughtily.

"And I did a fine job," he countered proudly.

They both laughed as Mary walked over to him and gave him a brief kiss. "Good morning, my darling."

"Good morning, Mary. What are your plans for today?"

She moved to the sideboard, her plate in hand. "I really must telephone Sir Stuart to talk about the Royal Oak and Sydney Street properties. It's been a while since he's given me an update." She paused and then said, "Actually, I really need to return to London in a day or two to check on things. Other than that, I thought I would walk to the village this afternoon to post some letters. What about you?"

Matthew cringed inwardly when she mentioned returning to London. "Well, I'm meeting with Forbes and an architect this morning," he said rather slyly.

"An architect? Whatever for? Don't tell me you're going to add even more bathrooms!"

Matthew grinned and proceeded to tell her about his plans for the Dower House and Crawley House. She was as amazed as he had been to hear that Isobel and Violet were willing to share a residence. But her eyes filled with tears as he described the plans for moving Cora into a newly-refurbished Crawley House.

"Cora made it clear she didn't want to remain here much longer, so when I asked her to entertain the notion of moving to Crawley House, she seemed thrilled with the prospect. I think she's even going to take Daisy with her as her cook."

"Oh, Matthew, what a brilliant idea! I'm so pleased they've all agreed. Why didn't you tell me? It's a perfect solution."

"I wanted everything to be in place before you knew. Cora was adamant about moving out of here, so it seemed only sensible to have her move close by. Things need to be settled so that she can move on with her life." _And so we can move on with our life together._ "I told you I was a man of mystery."

"And indeed you are. Are you sure you're not worried about your mother's well-being? Granny can be rather crusty."

Matthew's face reflected a knowing look. "I think Mother will be able to more than hold her own against Violet. Besides, they'll each have separate quarters, so they will have their own corners to retreat to, if necessary."

"You're a genius."

"I'm glad you think so. I suppose that makes us evenly matched."

* * *

The meeting with Forbes and the architect went well. Matthew was impressed with the plans for renovating Crawley House and the Dower House and asked Carson to find Cora so she could see them. To his surprise, Cora, Violet, and Isobel entered his office, the latter two having been at the Abbey to discuss with Cora plans for the hospital's Bring and Buy sale to be held later in the month.

As he spread the out the plans for the Dower House, he was relieved to see Isobel and Violet both nod their heads in approval. Each woman would have a spacious bedroom, an en suite bath, and private sitting room, and the common areas and kitchen would be enlarged.

"You've done well, Matthew," said Isobel, smiling. "It will be a very comfortable house for us both."

"Thank you, Mother. I must admit I held my breath as you looked at the plans, so I'm happy you're satisfied with the result. Cousin Violet, what do you think?"

Violet was quiet for a moment and then responded, "I'm pleased my wish for privacy has been accommodated, seeing that the private areas are on opposite sides of the house."

Isobel snorted, "I asked for privacy, too, you know."

"Humph. I suspect I will need it more than you."

"Now, Mama," interjected Cora, "you shouldn't bicker. It looks as if you both will have enough privacy when you want it."

"And why shouldn't we bicker?" asked Violet. "Why should today be any different from any other day?" She turned to Matthew and asked, "When is the construction to begin, and am I to remain in the house having to tolerate strange men tramping through banging hammers and sawing wood?"

"Well, Cousin Violet," replied Matthew with a crafty grin, "I thought you would stay here until the renovations are complete. Mother, you, too. There will be a lot of activity at Crawley House, as well, before Cora can move in."

Violet sniffed, "I daresay you will live to regret having the three of us under the same roof."

Isobel asked hesitantly, "How long will this take?"

"Forbes assures me both houses will be ready before Christmas."

"Well," retorted Violet, "never let it be said that I'm not a good sailor," a response that caused the others to laugh out loud.

* * *

As she walked back to the Abbey from her trip to the village, Mary was deep in thought. She felt it was time to go back to London, yet she wanted a reason to stay in Downton. Now that Sybil had returned to Ireland, there was no reason to stay longer other than to provide her mama with some companionship. Of course, seeing Matthew every day seemed reason enough to stay, but what of that? As they agreed, Matthew and she had taken things slowly, but according to Matthew, the divorce should be finalized that week. What then? Would he ask her to marry him? Would they continue as they were a while longer? If so, should she return to London and resume her life there, content to see him occasionally? He'd be in London fairly often to sit with the Lords. Would he accompany her to soirees and dinners? What did he want? What did she want? Her mind was a blur of activity, and before she realized it, she had arrived at the Abbey. She noticed he was standing beside their bench and walked over to him. When he saw her, he smiled broadly and held out his hand.

"Hello, my darling. Did you enjoy your walk?" He kissed her cheek gently.

"Yes, it was very pleasant. I love this time of year."

They sat silently for a moment, and she turned to him. "By the way, Mrs. Harrington told me to tell you 'thank you' for arranging repairs to the roof of her cottage."

"Evidently, she's been dealing with a leak for quite a while. I wish she had come to me instead of my finding out about it from her daughter. So, you saw her in the village?"

"No, I stopped by her cottage on the way home. You know, she's older than Granny, so she doesn't get out much. I haven't seen her in years, but I always tried to visit her occasionally before…before I left. She ran the pastry shop when we were girls." She smiled fondly at the memory. "Sometimes, Mama would take us there when we were on our way home from the village. She always was so kind to us."

Matthew looked away for a moment and then turned to her. "You love this village, don't you?"

She leaned back against the bench and smiled. "Very much. It's been good to be back, but…but I think…I think it's time for me to return to London." If she had been looking at him, she would have seen his troubled expression.

"My darling, why?" He barely could speak.

"Well, Sybil is gone, and…"

He took her hand and cradled it in his. He said quietly, "Before you say anything else, I received some news today."

"Oh, really? What kind of news?" She felt her heart rate increase as his hold on her hand strengthened.

"My lawyer called while you were out. The final divorce decree came through today." It was all he could do to keep his voice from shaking. He resisted the urge to take her in his arms and ply her with kisses when he observed the flush rising on her neck.

"Oh. I suppose you must be relieved," she said quietly. She didn't know what else to say. It was the news they both had waited for although they never really had discussed it in depth. She tried to keep her breathing under control.

"Relieved, yes, and free. Free _finally_ to do something I should have done long ago, my love."

He stood, aware of how naturally her hand fit in his. Mary looked up intently at him, her eyes bright and her face flushed.

 _He's going to propose! He's going to propose!_

And his eyes, impossibly warm and vividly blue, never left hers as he knelt before her.

There in the place where their relationship first took a positive turn _("If you like a good argument….")_ , the place they both considered _theirs,_ he asked her to marry him.


	19. Chapter 19

Matthew's proposal didn't exactly come as a surprise, but Mary found herself momentarily speechless nonetheless. Her midsection fluttered, and she felt as if she were suspended in air. She absolutely was captivated by the intense blue of his eyes, by the adoring expression on his face, and even though she knew what he had asked, she asked breathlessly, " _What?_ "

Patiently, as if he were talking to someone who was in a state of shock (which, indeed, she was), he asked again slowly and carefully, "My darling Mary, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" He couldn't help smiling at her obvious amazement.

She gathered her wits, and in a voice that left no doubt in either of their minds, she declared, "Oh, my love, yes! Yes, of course I will."

She stood and he drew her into his arms. He buried his face in her scented hair; she felt the warmth of his hands through her dress. Neither was willing to let go of the other as they held on—held on as if they could make the moment last forever. Both were loath to end the embrace, but finally, they separated but still held on, their arms around each other's waists. They couldn't stop looking at each other, so caught up were they in the moment. After the initial feeling of joy passed, Matthew gazed at her, wanting to express to her just how happy he was, but he had no words. She, too, looked at him as if she were trying to memorize his face, her eyes filled with tears. As he leaned forward, her mouth rose to meet his, and they both trembled at the sensation created by the kiss that celebrated the moment. Gently, steadily, they tasted and explored each other, both of them still smiling and euphoric. Several minutes passed before they separated.

Mathew pressed his forehead into hers. "God, Mary, I love you so. Thank you, my darling."

"For what?" she whispered.

"For saying 'yes.' For getting past what I did. For loving me anyway. For all sorts of things."

She leaned away from him, but her arms still held him close. "Matthew, You're the only man I've ever loved, and I think I've loved you much longer than I knew. I never believed this was possible, but now that it's happened, I want to…we need to…let go of the past. It's enough to know you love me, that we'll be together always." She moved toward him and her lips brushed against his.

"I'll do everything in my power to make you happy…to make sure you never regret this for a moment." He reached into his coat pocket and slowly pulled out a small box. Mary's hand covered her mouth as he opened the lid. Inside was a ring the likes of which she had never seen. It was a large, emerald-cut diamond solitaire mounted on a plain platinum band. Unlike the popular, filigreed engagement rings that many women wore, it was breathtaking in its simplicity. He removed it from the box and placed it on her finger. "I know it's simple, but I wanted something flawless—like you. I hope you like it, my love."

As she gazed at the ring, she realized he knew her better than she imagined. "Oh, Matthew, it takes my breath away. I've never seen a more perfect ring." The ring was one she would have chosen for herself. She kissed him again, more firmly this time, and his arms wrapped around her, enveloping her in warmth.

"I'm glad you're pleased with it. It just seemed perfect for you. Which reminds me of something else that's perfect for you."

"Oh, Matthew, the ring is enough…"

"Wait, I'm not talking about jewelry now." He put his arm around her waist and turned them to face the house. "It's going to take a lot of work to protect this family's legacy, especially with all the social and economic changes the country is starting to undergo. Not only do I want you as my wife and my lover, I also need you as my partner." Mary pulled away and looked at him in amazement. "Remember when I told you that Robert knew you were an astute businesswoman? He was right, my darling. I've seen first-hand how easily you recognize opportunities and grasp complex business transactions. I can think of no one else I'd rather have working with me to ensure that this estate endures well into the future. Years ago the entail took this estate away from you, but now I'm giving it back to you with all my love."

The realization of what Matthew was saying left Mary almost speechless, and she looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears. "I hardly know what to say, Matthew. I will admit I was concerned you might expect me simply to be your countess—something I'm proud to be, of course—but this means everything. I think you're right. Working together, I believe we can overcome any problem we might face in the future. The fact that we'll truly be partners in every sense of the word…well…I couldn't love you more for believing in me—and in _us_."

* * *

The three women standing at the window were not even aware they were holding hands. They watched in rapt attention as the couple by the bench embraced and kissed and confirmed that what always was meant to be—finally— had come to pass. An occasional sniff was stifled, and all three were lost in personal memories of love that had endured through the years. Now they were witnesses to the beginning of yet another love match that reminded them of their own.

Cora was the first to break away from the trio. Pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve, she delicately wiped her eyes and dabbed her nose. "It's wonderful seeing them together. I'm so very happy for them both."

"As am I," added Isobel, blowing her nose. She knew far more than the other two how tormented her son had been since the war, even more than when he was faced with never walking again. He was going to marry the love of his life, which was something she always prayed would be possible.

"Really, you two," exhaled Violet, her wet handkerchief wadded tightly in her hand, "you'd think you'd never seen two people in love before."

"Admit it, Mama," said Cora, "you're as happy about this as we are."

"Well, you've got me there." Violet's concession brought smiles to the other women's faces.

"It's just a shame Robert isn't here to see this," mused Isobel, which resulted in another round of tears from the three onlookers. They all knew it was something he had wished for so many years ago.

"He knows," said Cora resolutely as she wiped away her tears, "he knows."

As they continued to watch from the window, they were interrupted by Carson who inquired, "Is everything quite all right, milady?"

"Oh, Carson," exclaimed Cora, "come and see. Lord Grantham _finally_ has asked for Lady Mary's hand."

Carson leaned slightly toward the window, watched intently as the couple embraced, and for a moment, he could not speak. Then, he cleared his throat and said, his baritone rumbling, "This is indeed a much-anticipated event, milady."

"Please don't say anything downstairs, Carson, until it's official," replied Cora.

"Of course not, milady." With that, he walked from the room, his stately presence momentarily overcome with emotion. He quickly recovered, straightened his shoulders, and moved on.

* * *

"I suppose we should go inside and tell the family," said Matthew regretfully. He would have been perfectly happy to sit on the bench indefinitely with his arm around Mary because he could feel how perfectly they fit together.

"I suppose," Mary sighed, as she looked once again at the ring sparkling on her finger. "We might as well get it over with. You realize, of course, Mama and your mother will immediately start planning the wedding."

"I don't suppose we could elope," laughed Matthew, kissing her temple and knowing the answer full well.

"Oh, heavens! Carson never would forgive us, and I only can imagine what Granny would do. No, we'll have to bear with them, I'm afraid."

"One thing, my darling. This is _your_ wedding…"

" _Our_ wedding." They kissed gently at her pronouncement, her hand caressing his cheek.

"Very well, _our_ wedding, and because of that, promise me you won't let them make plans you don't approve of. I want our wedding to be everything _you've_ ever dreamed of, not everything _they've_ dreamed of. Mother can be quite pushy, as you well know, so don't let her or Cora, for that matter, influence your decisions."

Mary smiled, "Don't worry, darling. They cannot be any more intimidating than some of the crusty businessmen I've had to deal with in London." She smiled knowingly. "Speaking of which, I really do need to go to London for a day or two. Sir Stuart has contracts for me to sign, and I should fetch some more clothes to bring back here."

"Hmmm. Very well, but promise me you won't be gone long."

"I promise. Two days at the most. The sooner I go, the sooner I'll be back."

* * *

Mary and Matthew stood on the platform waiting for her train to arrive. She had sent Stephens ahead the day before to sort out clothing for her return to Downton two days hence. They had arrived early, so they stopped by the stationmaster's office to say hello and laughingly received his boisterous congratulations on their engagement.

"It seems everyone has heard," Matthew chuckled, shaking his head.

"Of course they have, darling. It's practically a village holiday when the Earl makes such important news," Mary said as she gently moved that unruly lock of hair off his forehead. "I wish you were able to come with me."

"I wish I could, too, but I've already postponed the tenants' meeting once, and if I postpone it again, they're liable to come after me with pitchforks and torches. You should know as well as anyone that an Earl's responsibilities aren't easily ignored."

She grinned at him playfully. "Oh, I know it's important for you to fulfill your obligations. Far be it from me to stand in the way!"

Once the train arrived, Matthew helped her into her first-class compartment and sneaked a quick kiss before stepping back onto the platform. "I'll miss you, my darling. Be safe and hurry back."

"It's only two days, Matthew. I think you can manage without me for that long," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"My love, any time away from you is torture," he laughed, holding his hand over his heart.

He stood for a moment as the train pulled away, his hand still over his heart.

* * *

Mary spent the journey alternately jotting wedding ideas into a small notebook and staring at her ring. It had been three days since Matthew's proposal, and already her world had begun to spin madly. She and Matthew had decided they would not wait, could not wait, for a spring wedding and told everyone in no uncertain terms that the wedding would take place during the week between Christmas and New Year's, less than three months away. This sent Cora and Isobel into a tizzy, causing them to bombard Mary with questions:

Who would design the gown?

 _Coco, who else?_

What kind of cake?

 _Matthew insists on pound cake with white icing and embellishments, Isobel_. _You know how he is._

Would there be enough flowers?

 _Isn't that what florists are for, Mama?_

How in the world will we have time to organize this?

 _ **I'll**_ _manage, Mama._

Mary smiled to herself as she continued making notes. The wedding had to be one appropriate for an Earl and his future Countess, but she and Matthew were determined to keep things as simple as possible, partly in deference to Matthew's previous marriage and partly because they wanted to keep things uncomplicated. _Hadn't their relationship been complicated enough?_ Their wedding would be a cause for celebration certainly, but there was no way a ceremony and all its accoutrements could match the joy they felt. It would be an emotional day to be sure, but every day they would spend together for the rest of their lives was what they would celebrate. Just thinking about being married to Matthew sent butterflies fluttering through Mary's heart. They had managed to share several moments of passion since the engagement—

 _lips probing_

 _hands grasping_

 _hearts surging_

—and the anticipation of all things being permitted made her face flush in spite of herself.

As the train pulled into Kings Cross Station, Mary rose to retrieve the small bag she had placed on the rack above her head, put away her notebook, and bent over to look out the window of her compartment.

* * *

The worn rails of the main line at Kings Cross recently had been replaced with new ones as part of routine maintenance, but these new rails hadn't as much adhesion as the old ones, and the recently-emptied train that traveled on them that afternoon came to a standstill on the steep grade leading into the Gasworks Tunnel. It then uttered a metallic groan and began to slide backwards, building speed as it surged rearward down the slick rails and back toward the station. The panicked signalman became aware of the train's rapid backwards slide and tried feverishly to send it to an empty platform. He was too late. The rear of the sliding train collided with the front of the incoming train just pulling into the station. In the collision, both trains derailed, and the sliding train's rear coach rose into the air and knocked a signal gantry onto two of the four first-class compartments in the middle of the incoming train, killing five passengers and injuring many more.


	20. Chapter 20

After Mary's train departed for London, Matthew drove to his law office in Ripon to take care of some long-neglected paperwork and to meet with his partners. He had decided that it might be wise to take a hiatus from the partnership as he settled into his role as Earl, and he was grateful his associates supported this decision. He had every intention of returning to the law eventually, but having to juggle the responsibilities of his law practice while getting acclimated to his new title proved to be a challenge. After assuring his partners that he wasn't abandoning them—they assured him they thought no such thing—he holed up in his office, answering correspondence and putting finishing touches on some intricate contracts for a manufacturing client.

When he finished his tasks, he jumped into his beloved AC Six roadster and headed back to Downton, his head filled with thoughts of Mary. He knew she should have arrived in London by then and felt a pang knowing she would not be at the Abbey to greet him on his return. Although day was relatively warm, he suddenly felt a rather odd chill, which he attributed to the rushing wind and his excessive speed. Still, he could not shake the persistent iciness running up his spine.

When he finally reached the village, he noticed a large group of people standing outside the stationmaster's office. Curious, he stopped the roadster, got out, and approached the crowd.

"Good afternoon, your Lordship," said a man in the group, "I suppose you've heard the news, too."

"No, what news?"

The stationmaster approached and motioned him into his office. Matthew noticed the man's nervous expression and followed him in, leaving the rest of the crowd to mumble and talk among themselves.

"My lord, there's been an accident…at Kings Cross station."

Matthew's blood ran cold. "What kind of accident?"

"I don't have all the details, but there's been a derailment…at the station…two trains…one slid into the other and both trains were knocked from the tracks."

"Are you telling me one of the trains was Lady Mary's?"

"I'm afraid so, sir." The stationmaster saw Matthew's stunned reaction and encouraged him to sit.

Matthew ignored him, his brain trying desperately to make sense of what the man just had said.

 _What was that pounding? Something had him by the throat, but the pounding…the incessant pounding and thumping. His heart hammered in his chest. The icy chill he had experienced on the drive to Downton grabbed him again. When did it turn so cold? Clamminess claimed his body and, God, what was in his throat?_

He attempted to stay calm, _but that goddamn pounding._ He asked tersely, "May I use your telephone?"

The stationmaster left the room as Matthew placed a call to Painswick House, hoping against hope that Mary would be there. _He knew that talking to her would assuage the infernal pounding._

"Gleason, this is Matthew Crawley. Is Lady Mary at home? Have you heard anything about a train accident?"

"No, sir, I'm afraid she isn't here. The chauffeur returned from the station and said when he arrived there, he couldn't gain admittance. He waited for her outside quite a while but finally returned when there was no sign of her. We're all quite worried, sir. The chauffeur said there seemed to be quite a few people injured."

 _How could he stop the bloody pounding?_

"Very well, Gleason. I'm leaving for London immediately. If Lady Mary arrives, please tell her I'm on my way."

Matthew hung up the telephone, opened the door, and waved in the stationmaster. "When's the next train to London?"

"That's just it, sir, there won't be any trains traveling to London from here any time soon."

"Why not, in God's name?" He practically shouted the question. _The pounding increased, hammering his head, his body, his heart. If he just could breathe…why couldn't he breathe?_

Shaken, the stationmaster stuttered, "Because, sir, the station at Kings Cross happens to be a bit of a mess. They've stopped all trains heading there until further notice."

 _Be calm be calm be calm. If the bloody pounding just would stop, he could think straight._

"All right, all right," he ran his hands through his hair. "Would you call the Abbey? Let them know what's happened? Tell them I'm on my way to London."

"But, sir, that drive will take hours. Perhaps you could wait to hear…"

"Are you going to do what I ask or not?" he snapped, his voice shaking with rage and unmitigated fear.

"Yes, sir. Very well, sir."

 _The pounding was relentless._

* * *

The _pounding pounding pounding_ continued to assault him as he tore across the countryside, passing hay wagons with abandon and swerving around curves at a speed much too fast for anyone with a modicum of sense. But he had no sense—he had to get to her, he had to find her safe. _She couldn't be taken from him now, not after all the years of regret, not after all the years they'd spent apart! They'd finally found each other again. This can't be happening._ _The pounding had become a presence as he drove, its steadiness the only constant as he continued to swerve and veer and press the accelerator to the floor, pushing the AC—and himself—past the limits of endurance._ _Please, God, please._ Darkness fell, and still he drove like a madman, praying all the while that somehow, _somehow_ , his love, his Mary, would be waiting for him at Painswick House, laughing as he burst into the foyer. She'd embrace him, scold him for being sick with worry; her laugh would ring as she looked at his windblown hair and wild eyes. Yes, she might be all right. _God, how long had he been driving? How much longer until he could get to her? She had to be all right. He couldn't lose her, God, please, let her be all right. The pounding continued incessantly…._

* * *

"Chaotic" was the only way to describe the scene at the station, and even that seemed too tame a word. Debris was everywhere one looked—smoking, gnarled, mangled—and those who witnessed the accident described it in horrific terms, knowing that as the cars rammed together and the gantry crashed down, death and devastation would result. Sirens and bells and screams and cries wailed nonstop as workers and onlookers scurried around strewn baggage and debris to tend to the needs of those caught in the wreckage. Some were beyond help. Others shrieked in agony as they were dragged away from the scene leaving behind shoes and bags and blood in an eerie trail that resembled meandering lines left by some wounded animal moving off into a forest to die. Still others, unconscious and pale, were carried away in arms that shook from the effort to be placed on benches or in the backs of ambulances.

* * *

Jimmy Moore had left his position behind the bars of the ticket-selling booth as soon as he heard the crash and saw the smoke. Running toward the derailed train that had been slammed by the sliding cars, he jumped in amongst the debris toward the unearthly sounds made by travelers trapped in the wreckage. He managed to pull one man free, his arms twisted and broken and his head bloody, and led him to a waiting stretcher, which was still pristine and unused although it wouldn't stay that way long. He returned to the wreckage and picked his way over boards and metal bars and glass shards and entered a compartment, obviously first-class judging by the velvet upholstery and fine fittings, where he found lying contorted among the rubble a woman— unconscious and breathing shallowly—still clutching a small bag in a hand adorned with the largest diamond ring he ever had seen. _She must be someone important, an aristocrat perhaps._ Cautiously, he lifted her head, brushing away dirt and ash from what he discovered was a pallid face he never would forget.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?" he said softly, shaking her gently. _Golly, she was beautiful._ No response. He knew he should be careful with her lest he injure her further although it didn't look as if she had any broken bones. He lay her head down gently, and as he removed his hand from the back of it, he saw his fingers were covered with blood. _Oh, Jesus_ , he thought to himself as he wiped his hand on his shirt. He put the small bag under his arm and then lifted her carefully, amazed at how slight she felt in his arms, and walked gingerly out of the car towards a bench already bearing the bloody residue from another victim. Laying her down gently, he called for help.

* * *

The Abbey was silent. Apprehension filled the air like a miasma as the three women who were so thrilled just days before sat together, filled with dread, praying that the telephone would ring with good news. Cora spoke with Stephens, who still had not heard from her mistress and who was so overcome with emotion that she dropped the telephone and had to be revived by Gleason. He expressed great regret, promised Cora he would contact her if he heard from Mary or Matthew, and asked if there were anything he could do. Violet tapped the few contacts remaining in her repertoire, yet she could get no information other than yes, there had been an accident and no, there was no list of victims available for public consumption. Isobel sat silent, eyes vacant, thinking of her son, knowing he would not recover if the worst had happened. So the three women sat silent, filled with dread, and waited.

* * *

Matthew ran up the steps to Painswick House and burst through the door into the foyer, the way he had imagined earlier in the day, but when he shouted for Mary,

 _there was no embrace._

 _there was no scolding._

 _there was no ringing laugh._

Gleason, alarmed by the noise, hurried into the foyer and greeted him as Matthew stood dumb, out of breath, unable to respond.

 _He brought the pounding with him into the house, and it echoed as he stood, breathless, disoriented, distraught because, unlike his fervent wish, his Mary wasn't there. Matthew knew that he needed to breathe—breathe?—but he'd forgotten how, forgotten how to breathe without her. He felt as if he might never breathe again. The pounding stayed with him, but breathing had abandoned him._

"Sir?"

 _Oh, he needed to answer. Could he talk over the pounding?_

"Yes, Gleason?"

"Sir, I took it upon myself to procure a list of local hospitals to which Lady Mary might have been taken. I've checked off the ones I was able to contact. So far she has not been admitted to those; however, I was told not all of the victims have been identified."

"Victims?" _God in heaven. Victims._

"Yes, sir. Those injured in the accident."

 _Mary was not a victim. She could not be a victim. She was strong and brilliant and beautiful and he loved her. His Mary could never be a victim._

Knowing he had to get himself under control in order to think rationally, he asked civilly, "Let me see it, please, Gleason, and would you mind fetching a cup of tea? I'm quite parched. I'll be in the sitting room." _There, that made sense. But tea? Whisky would settle the nerves and might control the pounding, but No! he needed all his faculties in order to think straight. The pounding now was a comfort, a companion._

He sat on the sofa and tried to push down the memory of when they last sat there together, his arm around her, as they talked of the future. But he saw the moment with such clarity and he felt her silken skin under his fingers and he remembered her lips as they traveled to his neck leaving trails of heat as they moved to his mouth and he knew at that moment he surely would die if she were taken from him.

As he tried to make sense of the list Gleason handed him, he heard him answer the telephone and jumped to his feet, listening for words or phrases that might indicate there was some news.

Suddenly, Gleason called in a voice filled with emotion, "My lord? There is a Mr. Moore on the telephone with news of Lady Mary."

Matthew grabbed the receiver from Gleason's hand and said urgently, "This is Matthew Crawley. What do you know about Lady Mary?"

 _Please God please God please God_

"Yessir, um…I was the one who carried her from the train…"

"Carried her? Was she _injured_?"

 _The pounding became louder. Oh God oh God oh God_

"Um…yessir. I forgot to place her bag in the ambulance with her. I found her name in the bag and thought I should try to contact her home."

"Why didn't _she_ call? Wasn't she conscious?"

 _The pounding began to echo again, bouncing off the walls, reverberating in his chest._

"No, sir, she was unconscious when they took her away. I'm sorry, sir."

 _Oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God_

"Do you know where she was taken?"

 _Please please please please please_

"I believe she was taken to Hornsey Central, a small cottage hospital in Crouch End. At least that's where the ambulance driver told me he was headed."

 _Thank you, God._ "Thank you, Mr. Moore. If you'll give your information to Mr. Gleason, someone will be by to pick up Lady Mary's bag."

Matthew handed the receiver to Gleason and glanced at the list. Hornsey Central wasn't on it. He would have spent hours searching for her in vain at the ones Gleason had listed.

He shot out the door, leaving a gawping Gleason in his wake.

* * *

When Matthew raced into the hospital, he noticed a flurry of activity around the front reception desk and immediately ran toward it. Concerned people all were talking at once, asking about loved ones who might have been brought from the station; some were crying, some seemed in shock, others were belligerent, but all were insistent on being given information about accident victims who were being treated. Voices were raised as a harried nurse assured the crowd that a list of patients and victims was forthcoming. Eyes moved to a set of double doors, and the group watched as a single entity, practically willing the doors to open.

Matthew paced nervously, trying desperately to force down the bile that was rising in his throat. He resisted the urge to gnash his teeth and wail with the others or to crash through those forbidding doors and scream her name. _The pounding was even more pronounced, exacerbated by the sobs, cries, and raised voices of others who feared the worst._

Suddenly the doors opened and desperate hands reached for sheets of paper that contained the information all wanted but dreaded to read.

 _Harold Smith - Serious_

 _Benjamin Richards – Fair_

 _Unknown female - Deceased_

 _William Samuels – Deceased_

 _Unknown male – Critical_

 _Unknown female – Fair_

 _Sarah Adams – Serious_

Fourteen individuals had been relegated to a single descriptive term: _5 serious, 3 fair, 4 critical, 2 deceased._ Matthew frantically scanned the list looking for Mary's name, but it wasn't there. Those who had relatives who were identified, whether alive or dead, were escorted away from the waiting area. Matthew and eight others remained behind as a different nurse proceeded to ask questions that might help identify five unidentified victims, one of whom, a female, was dead. _Dead dead not dead my dead Mary dead._

 _Male or female?_

 _Age?_

 _Hair color?_

 _Height?_

 _Distinguishing marks?_

 _Clothing?_

Although _the pounding_ impeded his hearing, Matthew answered the nurse's questions mechanically, still unable to breathe.

 _How could the love of his life be described in a word or two? She is magical, beautiful—can't they tell just by looking that she is the most breathtaking woman alive? (Oh, God, please, alive!)_

The nurse looked at him cryptically and said, "Please, follow me." With leaden legs he followed her down a stark, white hallway that smelled of antiseptic and seemed to stretch for miles, as their footsteps echoed off the pristine walls. By the time they reached their destination, _the pounding_ had moved behind his eyes so that when he saw Mary's still form, he could not believe it was she.


	21. Chapter 21

" _Oh, God, Mary!"_

Matthew rushed to her side, leaned over her still form, took one of her hands in his, and kissed her forehead. "My darling? I'm here, Mary, I'm here. Thank God you're alive. Mary? _Mary!_ " The realization that she was not responding to his voice made him dizzy with terror.

The nurse who had escorted him to the ward was replaced by a taciturn nurse who spoke firmly, "Excuse me, sir, who are you? Do you know this woman?" Matthew shook off the nurse's hand on his arm and frantically looked for signs of consciousness in Mary's pale face. "Please, sir, do you know her?"

Matthew straightened and looked scathingly at the woman in white, his eyes flashing. "Of course I do. She's Lady Mary Crawley, my fiancée. I'm Matthew Crawley, the Earl of Grantham. Why do you ask? What's wrong with her?" Holding back his panic was becoming more and more difficult.

Matthew's commanding tone forced the nurse to respond respectfully, "Well, my lord, she had no identification when she was brought in, so we had no contact information for her. She…"

" _What's wrong with her?_ Why is she unconscious?" He pulled over a chair and sat next to her bedside, holding her hand and kissing her fingers one by one. Although he was relieved to have found her, he was terrified to see her so pale and unresponsive. He looked threateningly at the nurse. "I want to speak with her doctor _now_."

"I'll let him know you're here. He can talk with you about her condition." She walked away quickly, as Matthew pled with Mary to wake and speak to him.

The doctor arrived to find an inconsolable Matthew whispering, _"Please, my darling, please wake up"_ and gently pushing her hair off her forehead and caressing her cheek. When the doctor touched his shoulder, Matthew stood to talk with him.

"Lord Grantham, is it? I'm Doctor Lytton. I treated Lady Mary when she was brought in. I immediately was concerned because she was unconscious and had a severe laceration on the back of her head near her hairline, which since has been closed. She had no identification, but obviously was well-bred considering the high quality of her clothing and the diamond she had on her ring finger, which, by the way, we never removed. I felt someone would be here soon to identify her. My initial examination led me to conclude she has no broken bones, but her failure to respond is a definite concern. She has some severe bruising and some minor lacerations in addition to her head injury. I would say, all in all, she's very lucky to be alive given the circumstances."

"So why is she still unconscious? Can't you do anything to help her?" Controlling his panic was becoming more and more difficult.

"Believe me, Lord Grantham, we've done everything we know to do. She needs rest and care and quiet, which we can provide. You must be patient."

"Patient? _Patient?"_

"I understand you're concerned, but…"

Matthew was incensed, and his jaw was set. "Yes, Doctor Lytton, I _am_ concerned," he snarled. "This woman is everything to me. I can't—I won't—live without her. Do you understand that I would do anything… _anything…_ for her, up to and including moving her somewhere else and finding a doctor who gives me more than platitudes? Now, what can we do to help her?"

A faint whimper from behind him caught Matthew's attention. He looked down as Mary moved slightly and whimpered again. In an instant he was kneeling beside her bed, the gentleness of his kiss contrasting with the grip of his hand on hers. "Mary? Mary, can you hear me? Darling, please."

She opened her eyes, blinked several times, and whispered, "Hello, my love. Must you talk so loudly?"

Waves of relief coursed through Matthew and he choked back a laugh and as Mary gave him a weak smile, he thought she never had looked more beautiful. Overcome with emotion and sheer exhaustion, he lost his composure and wept as she raised her hand to his cheek and tried to wipe away the tears that were coursing down his face. _She is alive, alive and smiling and alive! Thank God._ What had been the most horrific night of his life now had become the most joyous.

He brought her hand to his lips and murmured, "I thought I'd lost you. God, I couldn't live if I'd lost you."

She groaned softly as she brought her other hand to his face. "I'm so glad to see you, but what happened…where…where am I?"

"There was a train accident at Kings Cross, and you were injured. You're in a small cottage hospital in Crouch End. Are you in a lot of pain, my darling?"

"I'm all right, I think. I ache all over, though, and my head hurts." She looked at him questioningly. "How is it you're here?"

"I drove like a madman as soon as I heard the news about the crash."

Mary looked at him in amazement. "You drove? All the way from Downton?"

"The trains weren't running. I had no other choice. God, Mary, I thought I'd lost you." Once again she had to wipe away his tears as he clutched her hand. "What do you remember about the crash?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. One minute I was looking out the window at the station, the next I woke up here. Do you know what caused the accident?"

He related what little he knew, and Mary insisted he contact the Abbey with the good news of her survival. His call was received jubilantly by those who were waiting so anxiously, and he assured Cora he would call again with more news the following day. He returned to Mary's bedside after also relating the news to Gleason to find Dr. Lytton talking quietly with her.

"From the looks of things, I'd say you'll make a full recovery, Lady Mary, but you'll have to take it easy for a couple of days. You have some fairly significant bruising and a serious concussion, which has caused your headache. I'll send the nurse in with some medication that should help with the pain."

"Her resting won't be a problem," Matthew asserted, taking her hand. "I'll see to it."

"Of that I have no doubt," replied the doctor. He could recognize devotion when he saw it, and the depth of Matthew's was obvious.

Once Mary was medicated, Matthew sat beside her and asked, "Do you need anything, my darling?"

"I think I'd just like to sleep now. You should get some rest, too, Matthew. Are you going to Grantham House?"

"I'm not letting you out of my sight, Mary." She opened her mouth to protest, but Matthew said firmly, "I'll be fine. No argument. I mean it, Mary."

"Very well. I like having you here," she replied, her drowsiness becoming evident

He held her hand throughout the night as she slept, refusing to leave her bedside although each nurse who found him there tried to tell him it was against hospital policy, only to back away from his glare. Leaning on the edge of her bed, he finally fell into a dreamless sleep himself, his head on his crossed arms. He never let loose of her hand.

* * *

She was unconscious when she was brought into the hospital as well as when Dr. Lytton closed the gash on her head with seven neat stitches. He was surprised she had no broken bones—just some severe bruises and minor lacerations that resulted from her being thrown about the train compartment. He thought it a miracle, really. What he didn't know was if the signal gantry had fallen just one car forward, it was likely she wouldn't have survived, for the two people in the car behind hers had been killed. She was moved to a bed on the ward, and because of the chaos of caring for so many victims, she was listed as "Unknown" until the man who loved her beyond all reason arrived to identify her.

* * *

The next morning, Dr. Lytton had assured Matthew her condition had been upgraded from "fair" to "good" and said that she should suffer no ill effects from her injuries although he wanted her to stay in the hospital another day for observation and rest. Her head still ached, and she was stiff and sore, but Mary argued that she felt well enough to go home. Matthew wouldn't hear of it and arranged for her to be moved to a private room. Once she was settled, he sat on the edge of her bed and laced his fingers through hers.

"I know you're not happy about this, my darling, but the doctor seems to know his business."

"I just don't see the difference between lying in bed here and lying in my own bed at Painswick House," replied Mary petulantly.

"Well, you were unconscious for quite a while, so the doctor just wants to make sure there are no complications. Besides, it would ease my mind for you to be under a doctor's care for a little while longer."

"Hmm, very well, but will you do me a favor?"

"Of course, anything."

"Will you please go to the house and fetch me some night clothes and something to wear home tomorrow? Stephens will know what I need."

"Do you mean you don't care for this lovely hospital gown?" He ran his hand up the rough fabric covering her arm. "I can't imagine why."

"There's every likelihood I'll have a rash by the time I get home tomorrow," she retorted. "I suspect that's true of anyone who has to wear one of these for any length of time."

"Well, then, thank goodness you only have to stay one more night. I can't bear the thought of anything irritating that beautiful skin of yours." He leaned in and kissed her gently as her hand caressed his cheek. He stood to leave.

"Matthew?"

"Yes, love?"

"Thank you for taking care of me. I'm sorry you were so worried."

Matthew's heart clutched when he remembered the terror he felt as he tore toward London, knowing she was on the wrecked train but not knowing her fate. The intensity of the love he felt for her gripped his soul. He looked at her, his eyes swimming, and said, "I love you, Mary. I'll always take care of you if you'll let me."

* * *

Dr. Lytton discharged her the following day, giving her instructions to rest for a day or two and telling her to come back in five days to have her stitches removed. Matthew couldn't help smiling and shaking his head when the doctor agreed to her demand that she be allowed to wash her hair—as long as she waited the requisite three days. With that, Matthew helped her into the roadster and drove to Painswick House, his heart lighter and the pounding that began almost forty-eight hours earlier, a distant memory.

* * *

Relaxed after a much-needed bath, Mary sighed as she settled into the warmth of her bed, her back against the headboard, laughing as Matthew hovered over her, running his hand through his hair and asking the same questions over and over.

"Are you sure you're comfortable?"

 _Yes, darling, this bed is much improved over the one in which I awoke._

"What do you need me to get for you?"

 _Nothing, darling. I have everything I need. You're here._

"How is your head?"

 _Fine, my love. I have just a bit of a headache._

"Do you need anything?"

 _I need you to stop hovering over me, my darling._

"Really, Matthew, I'm fine. I think we both need to get some rest. Since you won't stay at Grantham House…"

"Mary, I'm not having this discussion again."

She rolled her eyes and looked at him affectionately. "I'm not arguing, darling. Golly, have you always been so stubborn?"

"Only when it comes to your well-being, my love." Seeing Mary so feisty was a definite relief, but Matthew was reluctant to leave her, even for a moment.

She cajoled, "I'm just saying Gleason has prepared the guest room for you, so why don't you lie down for a bit? I'm sure you'll be better for it."

A concerned look crossed his face. "But what if you need something?"

Mary sighed, "Darling, Stephens is here and has wrapped me in silk and feathers. I'm fine…I'll continue to be fine, I promise. I'm going to sleep for a while. Please, get some rest. Besides," she added coyly, "it's not entirely appropriate for you to be loitering about in my bedroom."

Matthew looked around as if he were seeing the room for the first time and noticed its décor. How like Mary it was—the pale gold walls and ecru linens gave the room a soft glow, and the symmetrical décor and lacquered furniture enhanced the room's glamour, luxury, and order. It was spectacular in its simplicity—sophisticated and fashionable, _just like Mary_ , he thought. He looked back at her and almost was overcome by the vision of her reclining form as she lay propped against several silk pillows.

"Well…ah…if you're sure."

"I am sure. Absolutely."

Matthew leaned over her, and she put her arms about his neck and smiled. They stared at each other for several moments, each lost in the other's eyes. His lips brushed hers gently, and he placed his forehead against hers. "I lived, but I wasn't alive until you. You've brought so much joy and peace and happiness into my life. There is no life without you. I love you so much," he whispered, "so very much."

"I know you do," she replied softly, "and I love you, too."

* * *

They both were surprised to discover they had slept through dinner. Feeling no real ill effects other than soreness from her ordeal, Mary dressed and went downstairs where she found Matthew on the telephone. He grinned at her and mouthed _Mother_ , so she moved into the sitting room to wait for him to finish the conversation. While waiting, she asked Gleason for a tray of sandwiches and any other tidbits the cook had readied, feeling it was past time to request a full dinner. Matthew didn't keep her waiting long, so they adjourned to the dining room, both of them famished.

He pulled out her chair and kissed the top of her head saying, "Mother was relieved to hear how well you're doing. She said she'd pass along the information to your mother and Violet."

"Good. I'm not ready to have another drawn-out conversation with either of them," she replied, looking over the trays of sandwiches, fruit, and sumptuous pastries Gleason had placed on the table.

As Matthew poured them both a glass of wine, Mary placed sandwiches on plates and placed his plate in front of him. He added some strawberries but left the pastries on the tray noting, "I'll save those for later."

As they ate, he suddenly looked at her and queried, "Does this remind you of anything?"

Mary took a bite of a strawberry, smiled, and said gently, "I seem to recall an evening long ago that involved a proposal in a dining room."

He leaned forward and kissed her. Her lips were soft and tasted of berries and wine. "Yes, it does seem we've come full circle, doesn't it? At least this time the proposal's out of the way," he whispered. He leaned forward for another kiss, and, her eyes shining, she met him halfway, her lips parted to grant him access to the sweetness of her mouth. The kiss left them both breathless, and they pulled apart, unable to hide the desire they both felt.

"You know, the accident was quite fortuitous, actually."

Mary looked at him in surprise. "Really, Matthew? How can you say that?"

"Oh, I don't mean to make light of it. It was terrible—horrifying. Truly. It's just that your being away from Downton, even for such a short time, almost was more than I could bear. I realized you would think my following you to London would be silly, but I must admit I considered it."

"It wasn't so silly. I hated being away from you, too."

"So, you see, the accident brought me here, and we're together. _That's_ why it was fortuitous. But, Mary, driving here, imagining the worst, I just kept regretting…. My love, without you I would wither and die." He shook his head and looked away, unable to express adequately the emotion that gripped him as he drove furiously across the countryside.

"Regretting what?" she asked quietly, taking his hand.

The look he gave her sent chills through her body. His eyes were filled with such intense desire that she trembled and felt the kind of arousal she experienced only in her most intimate imaginings.

"I think you know, Mary. I think you know how much I want you, how much I would regret not ever having the chance to make love to you."

Mary stood, his hand still in hers, and said in a voice husky with desire, "Come with me."


	22. Chapter 22

To Matthew, walking with Mary up the staircase to her bedroom felt like a dream, one from which he hoped he never would awaken. As they passed Stephens in the hallway, Mary said quietly, "I won't need you tonight, Stephens. You're dismissed," and the look she gave her surprised maid brooked no discussion. Mary closed the door behind them, and as the pale gold walls glowed with soft light from the shining sconces, they came together in a kiss so passionate, they both were trembling when it finally ended.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, as he held her close, praying she would answer in the affirmative.

"Yes, Matthew. I've never been surer about anything in my life. But, you should know…" She lowered her head, unable to look him in the eye.

"Know what, my darling?"

"That despite what everyone thinks…despite that…nothing actually happened with…Pamuk…he never…" She paused and whispered, "You'll be my first… and my only..." She looked up at him, her eyes unwavering but shining with tears.

Matthew was stunned for a moment. "But I thought…"

"I know. Everyone thought…assumed…I had lost my virtue. There wasn't any point in my denying it. No one would have believed me. He was dead…in my bed…but we were not together that way, Matthew; we never even came close."

His heart broke for her. She had lived with the iniquity of being a fallen woman for all those years, fighting to overcome her tattered reputation. In reality, she was as unspoiled as she had been when he first met her, and now, she was giving herself to him freely. He never had loved her more than at that moment. He resolved to take her gently, lovingly, reverently because she deserved more than feverish groping and a hurried act that might gratify only him. There would be time enough for unbridled lust—for the both of them, he hoped—but this time, her first time, should be about her needs, her desires.

"Mary, my darling, I love you. Believe me when I tell you it wouldn't matter to me if you _had_ lost your virtue—to anyone. But I want tonight to be something we'll both remember always. It means everything to me that we're here together."

She smiled with relief. "I'm so glad, Matthew, so very glad. It means everything to me, too."

He removed his jacket and undid his tie and tossed them into a nearby chair, and he took her face in his hands and kissed her softly, pulling her lower lip into his mouth and running his tongue along the edge. Her mouth curled and lapped at his in response, both of them unable to suppress their moans of pleasure. He then reached around her to unzip the back of her dress slowly (while thanking the fashion gods for the lack of buttons), as her shaking fingers moved to the buttons on his shirt, her lips moving down his chest as she undid each button one by one. After unfastening his cufflinks and tossing them onto the chair, she pulled the tail of his shirt from his waistband, and he left the back of her dress long enough to shrug off the shirt and then exhaled as his hands returned to the silken skin of her back. She ran her hands over his chest, tracing its breadth down to the vee that ended below his waist and then moved tentatively to his back and caressed the scar that remained from the injury that almost changed his life.

Once her dress was unfastened, Matthew inhaled deeply as he passed his hands underneath the fabric at her shoulders and lowered the frock, which fell softly to the floor in a silken heap. She stood before him in her camisole, French knickers, and stockings and reached for his belt. After he stepped out of his trousers, she smoothed back that wayward lock of hair from his forehead, her eyes perusing his face, a smile on her lips, and said tenderly, "I love you, Matthew, so very much."

"God, we might never have had this," he murmured, his honeyed voice low and rich as he drew her to him. He felt her silk-covered breasts against his chest as she pressed herself into his body and moved her arms around his neck. He groaned against her lips, deepened the kiss, and lifted her, cradling her in his arms as he walked to the bed. After placing her on the down-filled surface, he stood gazing at her, his heart beating, beating, beating and his breath shallow. As much as he wanted to take her, possess her, ravish her, he paused to drink in the magnificence of her body.

 _Alabaster skin that even bruising could not mar_

 _Firm breasts that rose and fell with every expectant breath_

 _Slim waist that accentuated her body's soft curves_

 _Sinewy legs that led to a treasure he thought he might never discover_

She lay still for a moment, set alight as his eyes traveled over her body, and she turned toward him, one leg bent at the knee, and reached for him. Craving him. Throbbing with desire.

"Touch me, Matthew, please," she whispered, making him shiver in anticipation of the pleasure that was in store for them both. He moved onto the bed and ran his hand the length of her body as she arched into his touch.

"Your wish is my command, my love," he said, and he pushed aside a camisole strap and placed warm kisses into the hollow above her collarbone while his hands continued to explore, mapping out each curve and edge, causing her to writhe and tremble at the sensuality of his touch. _This, this is what he had dreamed of as he longed to caress her supple body whenever she was near. He knew she would be all he ever would desire._ Her warm hands, also, were not idle as she kneaded and pulled and caressed his body, feeling his strength, euphoric in the sensations his masculinity produced in her. _She wanted this; she wanted him, more than she ever had believed possible._ His hand grasped the hem of her camisole and pulled the garment over her head. He moved to lie between her legs, and his mouth crashed into hers, and she rolled and surged below him, pulling him closer, heat emanating from her core, her moans of pleasure filling the room. He slowly moved down her body, kissing and stroking and reveling in her obvious longing for the pressure of his touch. Her hooded eyes watched him rise and kneel between her knees and slowly pull down her knickers, raising each of her legs to facilitate the garment's removal and sending a surge of desire through her. His mouth traveled down each leg as he removed her stockings, and he noticed their silk was rivaled only by the silk of her skin. He rose between her knees and stared at her luminous, naked body and murmured, "So beautiful" and caressed her slowly from her thighs to her neck and back again, sending her arching at the thrill of feeling his hands on her body. He took her breasts in his hands, and his mouth found her pebbled nipples, which he nipped and sucked with abandon, causing Mary to writhe and moan at the sensation the likes of which she never had experienced. He then kissed his way down her taut belly, and his gentle hand moved to the apex of her thighs and stroked her in ways about which she only had fantasized. Their eyes met, and she whispered, "Don't stop, please, don't stop" as he continued to massage and stroke her to the edge of her desire. Then his mouth replaced his fingers, and she began to call out, overcome by the sensation of his lips and tongue overpowering her. Her hands rose to clutch at the headboard as a throbbing, unlike any she ever had imagined, began to overtake her, and she screamed his name as she pulsed and pulsed and pulsed.

He moved back over her, and they embraced as her spasms abated. He kissed her gently, raised his head, and asked, "All right?" She smiled in response and began to move her hips languidly against his.

"Mmmm. I'm better than all right." She kissed him sensuously and rolled them over. "You're wonderful." She sat up and straddled him, causing him to chuckle in surprise. Running her fingers down his chest while he playfully tweaked her nipples, she asked, "Matthew, may I see you?"

His eyes darkened, and he replied, "Of course, my love, anything you want." With that he moved his hands to his waist.

"Let me," she said.

She moved from atop his body and slowly pulled down his drawers. She touched him cautiously and then took him in her hand, feeling his heat and his firmness. "You're beautiful, too," she sighed. Matthew placed his hand on her back, rubbing it gently as she began to stroke him. They stared knowingly at each other, their eyes began to reflect sparks of passion, and her breath hitched as he sat up and leaned her back into the pillows. Positioning himself between her legs, he took her hips in his hands and raised them as her legs parted. She surprised him by taking him in hand and leading him to her entrance. He reined himself in in order to move slowly and carefully, never taking his eyes from hers. Her warmth, her wetness was beyond anything he ever had experienced or imagined.

"Relax, my darling. It will be easier if you relax. I love you, Mary. I'll try not to hurt you."

She murmured in response to his throaty whisper, "I love you, too, Matthew. Please, I want you inside me. _Please_."

She let out a breath and grasped his arms as he entered her, lying still and moaning as she stretched to accommodate him. He gently pushed into her, and she cried out as her barrier gave way. He stopped for a moment, watching her carefully, and then she began to move against him, gradually increasing her pace and raising her hips and clutching his back. He called her name, lifted her right leg behind her knee, and as his intense, deep, slow thrusts filled her, a natural, instinctive rhythm began between them. Suddenly, seven years of longing, of passion, of need, of pain, of overwhelming desire came together in a force so strong, both of them were overwhelmed by the power of it. He repeatedly plunged into her; she continuously pulled him closer. They hurtled into each other as all other senses except touch were extinguished, and they exploded together.

* * *

They lay together supported by pillows, he on his back with one arm around her, she nestled against him on her side. They had whispered words so tender, so loving—Mary saying the act of love was as wonderful as she'd hoped; Matthew telling her she was every dream he'd ever had. She blushed as he talked of the wonders of her body; he smiled when she said she was glad he would be her only lover. After their lovemaking, he had cleaned her gently with a damp towel, treating her with care and imparting to her his utter devotion. She was his Mary, and she knew without a doubt theirs was a love that transcended mere physicality. Her head on his shoulder, she traced lazy circles on his chest, and he held her bent knee against his torso. A slight breeze cooled their bodies, slick with perspiration, and both were lost in thought—sated, contented, lethargic—but unwilling to give in to the sleep that beckoned. Her hand moved up to his cheek, and she had him lean down for a kiss.

"Matthew?"

"Yes, my love?"

"This—our being together—means everything to me, you know this, but…"

"But what, my darling?"

"But if Papa hadn't died, forcing me back to Downton, this might never have happened, and that scares me."

Matthew's arms tightened around her. "My love, I have to believe Robert's death has nothing to do with our being together. You need to know that nothing would have stopped my coming to you in London once my divorce was final. Lavinia's leaving me was a shock, I admit, but it was also a relief. I realized I finally would have a chance to win you back, to show you I never stopped loving you, that I knew I had made a dreadful mistake by marrying her. I never would have given up trying to bring us together." His voice softened, "My biggest fear was you had stopped loving me."

He burrowed his face into to her neck, and she turned to him, stretching her naked body on top of his and running her hands up his chest to his face. She began placing soft kisses on his mouth, her lips tasting his, gliding and insistent. They shifted their bodies and he was inside her again and she sat up and rolled her hips against his, which elicited a groan from him that rumbled from his depths. He held her waist and ran his hands up to her breasts, using his thumbs to stimulate her nipples into hard peaks. "God, Matthew, I never stopped loving you," she gasped. "Never let me go. Promise me." He sat up and she wrapped her legs around his waist and his lips replaced his thumbs on her breasts as her head fell back in ecstasy. They moved together—embracing, gasping, thrusting—and they fractured and shattered, both of them

trembling

and sated

and drained.


	23. Chapter 23

They slept, bodies entwined, as if sharing a bed were something they always had done. Early the next morning as thin slivers of light shone through the draperies, Mary awoke to find herself spooned against Matthew, a thrill running through her as his tongue traced up her spine and his hands strummed slowly across her belly. He pulled her hips to his and slipped into her from behind, and moved so unhurriedly, so sensually, that she lost her breath moaning her response. For them both, the moment was perfect, natural, blissful, and they felt a completeness that transcended mere physicality. She turned her head to kiss him as he filled her, both of them hungry for consummation yet not wanting the moment to end. She raised her arms behind her head and grasped the back of his neck as she arched with pleasure and went over, groaning as Matthew held her breasts, thrust twice more, and followed her.

As Matthew nuzzled her neck, she murmured, "Do you suppose we can wake that way every day for the rest of our lives?"

He laughed and whispered, "I don't see why not."

She turned in his arms, and they were face to face, still wrapped in each other's arms. She skimmed over his mouth and sucked on his lips saying between kisses, "You've made me a wanton woman, you know." Matthew chuckled softly in response. "Thank you for taking such good care of me—being with you is sublime. I'm afraid I'm going to want you all the time from now on." She smiled blissfully as his hands ran up and down her back.

"I certainly won't mind that because, I assure you, the feeling is mutual." They both laughed. "And you've made me the happiest man alive. I'm just sorry…"

Her fingers caressed his lips, and she said, "No regrets, Matthew. We can't dwell on what might have been. We're together now; that's what counts."

"I love you very much, you know."

 _God, she could stare into those azure eyes forever._

"I love you, too, probably more than is good for me. And as much as I'd like to spend the rest of the day in your arms, we should get up. I'm sure Stephens and Gleason are scandalized enough as it is."

"Mmmmm, but we're so comfortable, and it's not as if we have any pressing engagements."

"Really, Matthew, Sir Stuart is expecting me this morning, and if we're driving back to Downton today, we should leave right after luncheon."

He embraced her tightly. "Well, now, let's think about this. Do we really need to go to Downton today, and if not, couldn't you postpone your meeting with Sir Stuart until this afternoon?"

"I suppose, but…"

He burrowed his face into her neck and mumbled, "And, my darling, we won't be able to have mornings like this back at Downton until after we're married."

She laughed and pushed him away. "You're incorrigible, you know. I'm getting up. Stay in bed if you'd like. I'll be in the bath."

He tightened his embrace again. "Hmmm. Now that sounds like a good idea."

"You get the shower, you rogue."

"Come with me?" he asked as he grinned impishly.

"As much as I'd like to, you know I'm not to get my hair wet for another day. I do have stitches in my head, remember?" She rubbed the back of her head gingerly.

"Right." He gave her a bright smile, and his eyes widened in sudden comprehension. "You realize that means we can't return to Downton until after they're removed."

"Oh, I think Clarkson can manage to remove stitches. I don't have to return to Hornsey Hospital for that. Now, unhand me, sir."

Mary sat up in bed and realized her dressing gown was in her closet and that she would have to walk naked across the room to get it.

 _Oh, well,_ _it's too late for modesty now._

As she went to fetch the garment, Matthew watched her, admiring her lithe body and thinking he'd never experienced such riveting desire. She was glorious. She stepped out of the closet, the dressing gown wrapped around her body, and walked toward the bathroom, aware of Matthew's heated gaze.

"Come here a moment," Matthew called, his eyes filled with lustful merriment, "I need to check something."

"Check what?" She looked at him suspiciously.

"Just come here. Please, darling." He rose to his knees and held out his hand.

She walked slowly to the bed, and when she reached him, he untied the bow of her dressing gown and opened the garment wide. He pulled her to him and began to examine her body.

"What do you think you are doing?" She feigned indignation, attempting to mask her amusement—and arousal.

"I'm inspecting your injuries, darling. You have quite a few, you know. We should be sure they're healing properly." He then began to run his fingers over every contusion, following each touch with a heated kiss. After he finished with her front side, he turned her around and gathered her dressing gown in one hand to reveal her back. "Ah, here are a few more..." He continued his ministrations as Mary stood unsteadily. The stimulating sensations he was creating were quite undoing her. "Just a moment…here's another," he mumbled, placing a kiss on her shoulder blade.

Mary pulled her dressing gown (and herself) together and said testily, "Honestly, Matthew, you're hopeless."

"No, my love, just insatiable when it comes to you."

She looked over her shoulder and saw his boyish grin and his eyes full of amused contrition. She laughed. "Well, I'm fairly insatiable myself, but one of us needs to show some restraint, or we'll never leave this room."

"Would that be so bad?"

"Humph. I'm going to take a bath. You may do what you like." With that she strode into the en suite bath, leaving him to fall back, frustrated but laughing, onto the bed.

* * *

They had decided to stay in London at least one more day, coming to that decision after a rather steamy encounter that followed their respective baths, and Mary was able to change her appointment with Sir Stuart to mid-afternoon. While she met with him, Matthew went to Grantham House to change clothes and to sort some clothing to take back to Painswick House since he would be staying there for the duration of their time in London. Discretion was the order of the day, but no one on Mary's staff was fooled when she and Matthew appeared together at the breakfast table flushed and smiling.

When Matthew arrived to pick her up at Sir Stuart's office, Mary introduced him to Lady Sarah, who was dropping off some letters for her husband. After exchanging a few pleasantries, they turned to leave, and Mary promised Sarah she would fill her in soon on all that had transpired since they last saw each other. When Matthew's back was turned, Sarah raised her eyebrows at Mary and mouthed "Well done," which made Mary blush although she had to admit to herself he looked particularly handsome in his perfectly-tailored suit.

On their way back to Painswick House, Matthew asked, "What would you think about dinner tonight at Restaurant Boulestin and dancing after at the May Fair? Ambrose and his Orchestra are there now."

"My goodness. What brought this on?"

"I just feel like taking my beautiful fiancée out and showing her off a bit. We also haven't danced together for quite a while, and I'd like to make up for lost time."

"It sounds marvelous, Matthew. I'd love it."

"Evidently, the May Fair is _the_ place to see and be seen. I'm looking forward to finding out what all the fuss is about."

* * *

Their meal at Restaurant Boulestin was sumptuous, Matthew vowing that he might never be able to eat again and Mary closing her eyes and wishing for just one more bite of the chocolate profiterole. Their table was secluded, placed under one of the circus-themed murals that adorned the walls, soft balloon lights lending an air of whimsy to the luxurious atmosphere. They held hands across the table, their eyes shining with anticipation for the evening ahead. As they stood to leave the restaurant, Matthew helped her with her wrap and ran a finger across her bare back, sending a shiver up her spine and causing her to lips to part in response, which in turn, made him question whether to continue their evening out or to return to Painswick House immediately.

They pressed on, however, and their next stop was the May Fair ballroom, where the sounds of jazz enveloped them as they entered. They were shown past tables occupied by fashionably-dressed, elegant couples. Light and movement and color surrounded them, and everywhere was rhythm and laughter and conversation. They had been seated only a moment when Stuart and Sarah arrived at their table, much to Mary's delight. Stuart related that Matthew had invited them earlier in the day and said both he and Sarah were happy they had the evening free and were able to join them. After the couples chatted for a few minutes, Matthew looked at Mary and asked, "What about it?" whereupon they rose, walked to the dance floor, and faced each other, their hands and eyes intertwined. He took her in his arms, holding her much more closely than might have been deemed proper, but they paid that no mind. His hand moved down to the small of her back, and she pressed her hips into his as they each almost were overcome—

 _touching,_

 _breathing,_

 _remembering,_

 _anticipating._

Music enveloped them, and an indescribable pleasure filled them as they moved around the floor. Gone was the staid, romantic waltz of old, replaced by a sensuous tango as they rose and dipped as one to the strains of the violins. The music was continuous, and they found themselves remaining on the dance floor, unable to tear themselves away from each other's arms. Finally, Matthew whispered in her ear, "As much as I hate to say it, I suppose we should get back to Sarah and Stuart." Mary smiled wistfully and nodded, so they headed back to their table.

As they made their way between the tables, from the corner of her eye, Mary caught a glimpse of a familiar face glowering at them. A quick shudder passed through her, prompting Matthew to ask, "What is it, Mary?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I just had a brief chill."

He held her chair, motioned for the waiter, and sat beside her, his arm around her shoulders. Laughing and talking with Sarah and Stuart above the music, they waited for champagne to arrive and suddenly were aware someone was standing beside their table.

Richard Carlisle.

Mary's blood ran cold.

Matthew's jaw clenched.

During all the time she had lived in London, Mary thought it remarkable that she and Richard never had crossed paths although they certainly did not run in the same circles. She hadn't given him a thought in ages. She had broken with him, he had printed her story, and she never had any contact with him again.

Until now.

He had aged in the past seven years. His hair, worn in the same slicked-back style, was thinner and grayer, and the lines on his face were deeper, giving him the look of a craggy, malevolent feline. His eyes, though, glinted with the same cunning they'd always employed, and he looked at Mary as though he were ready to pounce, inflamed by the beauty he never was able to possess. Seeing her with the man he despised most in the world, Richard's vindictive nature was unleashed as he seethed inwardly at the sight of them together.

Matthew stood when Richard arrived at their table and moved to thwart his view of Mary when he saw the look in Richard's eyes. His hand moved protectively to her shoulder, and he felt her become rigid, which made him determined to shield her as much as possible from whatever vitriol Richard planned to inflict on her.

"Crawley. Mary," Richard said smoothly, bowing in their direction, his eyes boring into Mary's stony face.

"That's 'Lady Mary' to you, Carlisle," Matthew retorted, ignoring the fact that Richard had not used his proper honorific, either.

"Hah, _Lady_ Mary," Richard replied snidely. "I see you haven't changed a bit, Crawley—still Lochinvar to her Ellen. Why am I not surprised?" Looking over to Stuart and Sarah, he asked, "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

As Matthew made the introductions, Mary noticed his agitation and steeled herself, hoping that Richard would sling whatever barbs he intended and go on his way. It had been such a lovely evening, so to have it spoiled now was almost more than she could bear.

Richard turned his attention back to Matthew and Mary. "From the looks of that ring, it seems you didn't waste any time proposing after your divorce, Crawley. Frankly, I'm surprised." Mary stiffened and resisted the urge to hide her left hand in her lap.

Matthew's eyes narrowed. "Oh, why is that?"

"Knowing your fiancée's history as I do," Richard sneered, "I'm certain you could have enticed that slut into your bed with little more than a 'come hither' look, making the formality of a divorce unnecessary."

Time seemed to stop.

Mary's hand covered her mouth.

Stuart and Sarah looked at each other in horror.

"You bastard," Matthew said between clenched teeth.

Before he knew what hit him, Richard found himself flying through the air and landing with a thud on top of an adjacent table, sending patrons, glassware, and bottles in all directions. All the while the orchestra continued to play a jaunty fox trot, which added a bizarre ambience to the scene. Richard's splayed nose was bleeding profusely, and he lay stunned amid the remnants of what had been a birthday celebration. Matthew stood over him, shaking out his hand, his eyes flashing with cold anger. Before he could say anything, however, Stuart stepped forward, held Matthew's shoulder, and said, "Sir Richard, if Lord Grantham hadn't stepped up, I would have. In fact, everyone within earshot would have responded similarly. I suggest you gather yourself and depart before one of us finishes the job Lord Grantham started."

Richard was helped to his feet by two waiters who took him firmly by the arms and half-led/half-dragged him out of the ballroom as open-mouthed patrons stared at the bloody, disheveled man who obviously had done or said something untoward and had gotten what he deserved.


	24. Chapter 24

_**With the holiday season upon us, I'll be posting less frequently - probably once a week - until after the new year. There's a lot to come in the story, and I want to thank you ahead of time for your interest and kind reviews. They mean so much.**_

* * *

After saying good-night to Sarah and Stuart, Matthew and Mary walked out of the May Fair, and the doorman flagged their chauffeur. Once they settled into the back of the motor, Matthew took Mary's hand and kissed it saying, "I'm sorry our evening had to end on such a sour note. I just couldn't let him get away with saying what he did."

"Matthew, he didn't say anything others haven't thought. I've lived with the 'slut' moniker for years. It hurts, I admit, but I'm used to it. I've moved past it, truly."

Matthew looked at her in surprise. "Mary, no one who knows you thinks that, and if everyone knew the real story…"

Mary fixed him in her gaze and said, "But you're wrong. Even Edith called me a 'slut' when I confronted her about her letter to the Turkish ambassador."

"What? What letter? Mary, what haven't you told me?"

"I'm not keeping anything from you deliberately." Matthew looked sternly at her. "Oh, she wrote to the ambassador telling him the details of Kemal's death. I never did find out how she knew, but gossip spread quickly. Somehow Bates's former wife found out and threatened to sell the story to the newspapers. That's why I went to Richard…to ask for his help. He bought her story and her silence and blackmailed me into marrying him. So you see, that's why he printed the story after I broke with him; he thinks he knows what happened, which is what prompted him to say what he did tonight."

Matthew was incredulous at Edith's betrayal of her sister. He'd never known the whole story, only what had been published before Mary's departure for London. "God, Mary, it breaks my heart you had to deal with this alone. I wish I'd known. Perhaps I could have helped. As for Edith…"

"Let it go. I've long since forgiven her, Matthew. As for the rest…I couldn't bring myself to tell you." She looked away and collected herself. "Anyway, by the time I had asked Richard for help, you already were engaged to Lavinia, so I had to try to handle things alone."

Matthew glowered. "That bastard deserves worse than I gave him tonight."

"Darling, I appreciate your gallantry, but you know Richard was deliberately inflammatory—he always has been—but I suspect he never thought you would react with such violence. When I spotted him as we were leaving the dance floor, I felt in my bones he would provoke a confrontation."

"So, that's why you reacted the way you did when we were returning to our table. I wondered."

"Yes, I hoped he'd leave us alone, but knowing him as I do, I'm not surprised he couldn't resist. He doesn't seem to have changed at all; in fact, he seems worse—so bitter and angry. It's funny, though. I spent seven years living here, dreading the moment I might run into him. I just never thought it would happen when I was with you. I'm so sorry."

He kissed her and caressed her neck. "Don't be, Mary. If there had to be a confrontation, I'm glad I was there. I hate you had to be subjected to this."

"You're a darling for standing up for me, and I love you so much for it." She ran her fingers gently over his hand. "How is your hand, by the way? I've never seen anyone fly through the air from a punch. I think both Stuart and Sarah were impressed. I know I was." She suppressed a smile.

Matthew flexed his hand and chuckled. "It's fine—just a little swollen and sore. I must admit I've never hit anyone so hard, but it certainly was very satisfying to see him covered with cake and champagne as he was being hauled off."

"It was kind of you to reimburse that group for their birthday celebration."

He laughed quietly, "It was the least I could do since the cake was flattened, and they had to settle for hors d'oeuvres instead."

As they rode to the rest of the way to Painswick House, Matthew pulled Mary close and buried his nose into her hair, swearing to himself she never again would have to face any kind of hardship alone.

* * *

When they arrived at Painswick House, Matthew took Mary's hand and led her into the drawing room. He went to the gramophone, selected a record from her collection, and placed it on the turntable. "We didn't get to dance nearly enough tonight. Shall we?" She walked into his arms, and he led her in a slow fox trot as the music of "My Blue Heaven" filled the room. Holding her tightly, he hummed the tune and thought how perfectly the night was ending despite what had happened earlier. Heaven was in his arms. Perfect. Ethereal

 _This._

 _This is what she'd missed._

 _Dancing._

 _Being held in his arms,_

 _music washing over her,_

 _feeling his heart find its way into her chest._

After the song ended and the needle's rhythmic _scratch, scratch, scratch_ resonated through the air, they continued to travel around the floor as one, finally standing in place, moving just slightly, wrapped in each other's arms. Neither said a word, and for several moments they locked eyes. They simply looked at each other— appreciating, adoring, anticipating, each of them lost in the midst of the passion that was their mutual being—until finally they turned and, hand in hand, walked upstairs.

* * *

Mary closed and latched the bedroom door, but before she could turn around, Matthew's body pressed her against it, his mouth on her neck and his hands clasping her wrists, raising her arms above her head and trapping her against the door's smooth surface.

"Keep your hands raised, my love," he hissed between clenched teeth as his hands moved down her arms, finally resting on the swell of her breasts. "God, I've wanted to do this all night."

His heat enveloped her, his breath intense and hot against her neck, and Mary moaned in response, giving him tacit permission to chart a path over her aroused form. Her warm cheek pressed against the door's cool surface, and she closed her eyes as Matthew's hands began to fondle her breasts.

His hands moved to her hips and pulled her metallic lace frock slowly up her thighs, to her waist, and finally over her head, leaving her trembling at the sensation of his hands moving over her unclothed body. The dress was one of Coco's latest creations, but Mary thought of it as little more than a scrap when Matthew pitched it into the corner of the room. Still stretched with her arms above her head, she shuddered as Matthew began removing her silk undergarments and stockings, piece by piece, slowly, agonizingly, until overcome by desire, he tore her knickers to shreds and left her panting and naked as one of his hands reached around her body and found her center, stoking the fire inside her, while the other ran up and down her spine as he laved kisses onto her glistening skin. He felt her lithe body begin to twist and writhe as the slick evidence of her arousal coated his fingers.

She turned—her back flush against the door, her arms still raised—and her sable eyes were so lustful his breath nearly was taken away. He raised one of his hands to her wrists and pinned them in place while his other hand went to her face. His eyes hooded and dark, he rubbed her cheek with a knuckle and then kissed her roughly, causing both of them to hum and moan in response to the sexual tension that could be cut with the proverbial knife. His free hand moved to her breasts, tweaking and pulling each nipple, until she groaned in reaction to the pleasing pain. "Don't move," he said in a throaty whisper, and slowly, he began to travel down her body, his tongue and hands laving and stroking as he journeyed from her neck down to her torso.

The sensation of Matthew's mouth on her breasts as his hands traveled down her body caused Mary almost to swoon from the stimulation. Suddenly he was on his knees in front of her, pushing her legs apart, his face between them, and his tongue finding the sensitive, swollen spot that showed clear evidence of her arousal. Her hands dropped to his head, and she pushed him into her, driving her hips against him as she gasped with pleasure as he lapped at and tasted her center.

"Please, Matthew," she pined. "Oh, _please_." She pulled him to a standing position, and she kissed him fiercely, his tongue giving her a taste of what he had been feasting on. His hand clutched between her legs and pressed and released and pressed and released over and over until, suddenly, a guttural cry tore from her throat, and he could feel her breaking and throbbing as she spent against his hand.

Overcome, she collapsed into his arms, and he carried her to the bed, laying her down gently, mesmerized by her breathless form. She watched him, enthralled, as he began undressing, throwing aside items of clothing and finally standing before her, naked and fully aroused, his sculpted body glowing and his eyes darkened with passion. Mary sat up slowly and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her eyes dancing with desire. She grasped his hips and pulled him toward her, bringing him between her knees. Looking up at him shamelessly, she began to stroke his manhood, at first gently then gradually increasing the pressure. He reacted with a shuddering groan as her hands grasped his buttocks, and she leaned toward him and took him into her mouth. She was exhilarated by the strange sensation of his rock hardness being coupled with silken smoothness. She heard him moan and felt him shiver as he muttered, "God, Mary, just like that…just like that." He held her head in his hands and began to thrust gently, pumping in and out as the warmth of her mouth and undulations of her tongue nearly undid him. After several minutes of blissful agony, he took her face in his hands and pulled away.

"Wasn't I doing that properly?" she asked softly, disappointed that he'd ended what turned out to be quite a pleasant experience. "I only wanted to return the favor."

"Oh, Mary, it was like nothing else I've ever experienced. It's just that if you had kept it up much longer, I would have spent into your mouth." He lifted her legs back onto the bed and stretched out beside her, his hand whispering over her collarbones and down her chest.

"And that would have been bad?" There was so much she didn't know.

"Not bad, exactly; it just might have put an early end to the second chapter of what is becoming quite an adventurous evening."

"Oh, I see. Well, we can't have that, can we?"

"No, my darling, we can't."

He leaned over her, his lips just above hers, and she raised her head, taking his lower lip between her teeth, her eyes blazing. Suddenly, passion flared again and their lips fused and a white-hot heat emanated from a place of desperation. Gone was the gentleness of touch and need, replaced by a craving so fiery it threatened to consume them both. His lips were famished, frantic against hers, and hers were reacting with equal energy. His hands were everywhere, frenzied on her body, and a furious storm ensued. She, too, was urging him to continue on the path he started when he had her pinned against the door. His searing murmurs caused her to grasp and pant and writhe until, almost undone, she keened once again, " _Please_."

His fingers slipped between her thighs, and she cried out as his thumb teased that spot of agonizing pleasure as he inhaled against her, her scent filling his head. Her cries and gasps of pleasure began to intensify when suddenly Matthew muttered gruffly, "Look at me, Mary. Look at how much I want you. I want to watch you go over. _Look at me. Now, Mary_ … _now_." She came undone under him, lost in the smoldering blue of his eyes, and just as the throbbing wave hit her, he drove into her, his hard length jolting the breath from her lungs and extending her orgasm. To Mary, it was as if he were surrounding her, soaking into her skin, and her body rose to meet each thrust as he repeatedly slammed into her.

He was relentless.

She was undone.

She clawed at his back and thrashed beneath him, as his mouth consumed hers. Unlike the gentleness of their lovemaking the previous night, this act consisted of unbridled passion. They were filled with senseless desire. Her legs became vises and clamped around his waist matching his thrusts, and his hands gripped the slick skin of her hips as he continued to lunge into her, and she responded with frenzied cries of "More…oh, God, Matthew… _harder_ " and bucked and quaked under his unremitting rhythm. He grabbed her hands, trapping them in his and forcing them into the mattress, and he could feel the pressure building within her once again as she began to clench and quake and he, too, seized as his body released. They moaned together—tremors and contractions overtaking them both—until breathless, their hands moved slowly over their slick bodies, and their lips exchanged soft kisses that took the place of whispered words.

They lay together—his head resting on her breast, her hand playing in his hair—both totally satiated and panting from the intensity of their lovemaking.

After several minutes, Mary spoke. "Matthew?"

"Yes, my love?" _God, her skin feels like velvet._

"May I ask you something?"

"Of course, Mary. You can ask me anything."

"Was it…was it ever like this with…Lavinia? I mean, did you…?" She hesitated, unable to finish the question and dreading his answer.

He raised his head and looked at her, realizing what it took for her to ask. "God, Mary, no… _never_."

"You can be honest, Matthew. I want you to be…"

"My darling, I _am_ being honest. I did my duty, which is all it was. It wasn't fair to her, I know, but the desire, the passion, the love—like what we have—just wasn't there. God, Mary, I'd never felt anything that comes close to the way I feel when we're together. I'll always regret being such a damn fool."

She brushed back the hair from his forehead and kissed him. "I wish things had been different, too, but regardless, she was your wife. You had to have felt something for her."

"Perhaps, but once we realized there probably would be no children, the intimacy eventually ended. It was for the best."

Mary was quiet for a moment. "What if…" her voice caught, and Matthew raised his head to look at her and was surprised to see her looking at him pensively.

"Mary, what is it?" He rose slightly and leaned into to her, concern written on his face.

"What if…what if I can't give you children?"

He placed his lips against her neck and replied gently, " _What_? Why would you ask such a thing?"

Her voice quavered despite her effort to control it. "Well, I'm not young, you know. There's a chance I won't be able to…to…conceive a child. What will happen to us then?"

"My darling, if that's the case, then we'll enjoy living the rest of our lives _together_. Your ability to bear a child _never_ will have an effect on how I feel about you. If we never have children, so be it."

"But…you need an heir, heirs…"

"Sod the idea of heirs. I promise, that's not anything I've ever given a single thought to." His voice softened. "You seem to forget that I've yet to father a child. If there _is_ a problem, it just as easily could be mine." He took her chin gently in his hand. "Mary, look at me. I love you. I always will love you and desire you, so much it scares me sometimes. Besides, you're worrying about something that may never come to pass. For all you know, we may end up with _a houseful_ of children."

Mary choked back a sob as Matthew tenderly took her into his arms, troubled that she already had begun to worry about such things.

"Besides, my darling," he whispered, a smile playing across his face, "you may be walking down the aisle carrying more than a bouquet because I plan for us to have many repeat performances of tonight before the big day."

She blushed in his arms. "Oh, Matthew, you _do_ make me happy, you know. I love you so very much." She never knew that the sexual act could provide the kind of ecstasy she experienced with him. No novel, no story, no whispered gossip came close to describing the pleasure she now knew was possible. She wanted to weep with joy, but instead allowed him to take her in his arms and felt the beautiful haze of desire wash over her yet again.


	25. Chapter 25

Mary and Matthew decided to extend their stay in London by several days for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that they were loath to return to the moral constraints of Downton, having enjoyed the pleasure of being together at Painswick House during both the day and at night. Violet and Isobel had joined Cora at the Abbey since renovations at the Dower House and Crawley House were underway, so Matthew and Mary knew they would be living under the watchful eyes of three women who would be determined to keep them in line. Although they had developed a kind of telepathic communication—raised eyebrows, gentle blushes, the brush of hands—signaling desire that needed to be sated and that could be fulfilled whenever they chose, they knew they wouldn't be able to move about so freely at Downton. Explaining the delay to the three suspicious women proved to be a challenge, but they stood their ground and assured Cora, Isobel, and Violet that an extension was necessary because of business obligations and wedding planning.

Mary was determined that Coco would be the one to design her wedding gown, but there wasn't time for her to travel to Paris since she and Matthew were due back at Downton. She called Coco and was thrilled that the designer agreed to meet with her in London. What Mary didn't know was that Coco was having a torrid affair with reputedly the richest man in Europe — Bendor, the 2nd Duke of Westminster—and had planned to rendezvous with him in London that week anyway. All Mary knew was a late-December wedding wouldn't give the designer a great deal of time to create a gown to Mary's specifications, so she was grateful for Coco's cooperation. When Coco arrived at Painswick House with her entourage and loads of trunks and boxes, Mary was astonished to find the designer had brought dress samples ready to be fitted to her. The gowns reflected the designer's simple styles that Mary adored, yet the luxurious fabrics and exquisite laces took the bride-to-be's breath away. One of Mary's favorites was one of Coco's most daring styles: a short satin gown with a long tulle train that flowed behind. As _avant garde_ and appealing as the style was, Mary decided against it, assuming her granny and her mama might never recover from the shock of seeing her walk down the aisle in anything other than the customary long gown. Nevertheless, Mary eschewed the traditional billowing skirts and fussy details so prevalent in society weddings and chose instead a floor-length silk organza sheath that was cut on the bias and that accentuated her lissome figure. The pearl-white dress had an overlay consisting of lace tiers that were almost transparent in their delicacy. After scheduling a follow-up appointment for fittings, Coco assured Mary the gown and trousseau would be ready in plenty of time for the wedding and even promised one of her assistants would bring the gown to Downton to ensure final alterations would be made, if necessary. By the time Coco departed, Mary's entire bridal wardrobe was selected.

Mary returned to Hornsey Central Hospital after all to have her stitches removed and received a clean bill of health from the doctor, much to Matthew's relief. They thanked the staff for their excellent care and afterward went directly to Sir Stuart's office to look over the latest projections for Imperial Airways and to solicit his advice about further financial investments. Their business over, they began to talk about Matthew's confrontation with Carlisle at the May Fair.

"I must say, Matthew, I was impressed with your pugilistic expertise the other night. Your defense of Lady Mary's honor was admirable."

Matthew frowned, "Yes, well, flattening him gave me a great deal of satisfaction for many reasons although what he said about Mary made my blood boil."

"I could tell. There are a number of people who would stand in a queue to finish Sir Richard off. He's an anathema to most of the business community in London. I've never known a man to have so many enemies. It's too bad his newspaper empire wields such power."

"I just hope we've seen the last of him," added Mary quietly. "He's a part of my life I hope never to revisit." Matthew noticed Mary's still demeanor, hoping the discussion about Richard's behavior had not upset her.

"Oh, I don't think you'll have any more trouble with him," said Stuart. "His public humiliation should keep him at bay. I'm sure you noticed his competitors managed to publish photographs of his being led out of the May Fair. He'll be lucky to maintain any dignity after that kind of publicity."

* * *

In the drawing room after dinner that evening, Matthew brought up the subject of the wedding ceremony, surprised to find Mary somewhat reticent to discuss it.

"Darling, are you all right? I thought you'd want to talk about the ceremony. After all, we'll need to get everything sorted with Travis fairly soon."

"It's not that I don't want to talk about it. I just think you haven't realized we cannot be married in the church."

"What do you mean? Of course we can! Why would you say such a thing?"

"No, Matthew, we can't. You're divorced. The church's doctrine about this is very clear. Travis couldn't allow it even if he agrees to marry us. The ceremony will have to be at home or somewhere else. He might let us use the rectory, though. Of course, we always can have a civil ceremony and ask for a blessing after."

Matthew was stunned. It hadn't occurred to him that Mary would be denied a church wedding because of the dissolution of his marriage to Lavinia. She deserved all the trappings of a traditional wedding ceremony, and because of his divorced status, she might only be allowed a civil ceremony. _The unfairness made him seethe._ Since his proposal, he had envisioned Mary coming down the aisle to him—glowing and smiling—while he waited to make her his own. Now, that vision was shattered because of his divorce. His disappointment and guilt were profound.

Mary saw the look on his face and was quick to assure him, saying, "Matthew, it doesn't matter to me where we're married. Besides, I must admit walking down the same aisle as Lavinia did doesn't really hold much appeal to me."

"But it's not fair that you…"

"Hush, Matthew. What wouldn't be fair is if we couldn't be married at all. Believe me, the ceremony, or lack of one, isn't important." Her enticing smile immediately melted his heart. "Now, kiss me before I get cross."

* * *

After seven blissful and constructive days in London, Mary and Matthew left for Downton in his jaunty AC Six, sending Stephens and their luggage ahead on the train. For Matthew, the drive was beyond pleasurable, mainly because he could enjoy the scenery—and the company—unlike the frenzied journey he had made to London after news of the train crash had reached him. As he drove, occasionally he would glance at Mary to admire her windswept beauty—her rosy cheeks and her bright eyes capturing his attention, much to Mary's consternation.

"Matthew, you really must keep your eyes on the road. We need to arrive at Downton in one piece."

"Ah, but my darling, if you weren't so captivating, I'd be able to focus on my driving. As it is, I find it difficult to concentrate."

"Ha ha. Just pay attention to where you're going, and I'll try to keep this scarf from throttling me." The alpaca scarf's silken fringe whipped around her head as she tried in vain to keep it under control.

Matthew raised his eyebrows and leered at her. "Well, my love, I see you've found yet another use for a scarf although I must admit I prefer using one in…ahem…a rather more pleasurable way."

Mary blushed and said wryly, "You really are incorrigible, you know that." She settled back into the seat and closed her eyes, allowing memories of the previous night to envelop her.

* * *

 _Matthew and she had returned to Painswick House after dining with the Richardsons. After dismissing Stephens for the night, she noticed that the red silk piano shawl she'd worn that evening had fallen to the floor next to her chaise, so she picked it up intending to place it back into her closet since she had decided not to pack it for the trip to Downton. She moved her cup of hot chocolate from the tray on the chaise to the bedside table before returning the shawl to her closet._

 _As she held it between her outstretched arms, Matthew, newly showered and wearing his dressing gown, came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and nuzzled her neck. "I can think of a few interesting uses for such a beautiful thing."_

" _Oh, can you? Hmmm. I was just about to put it away…" As Matthew began to place kisses on her neck and run his hands up and down her arms, she dropped the shawl onto the chaise and turned to face him. She stood still, her eyes closed, and he undressed her slowly, kissing her exposed skin as he removed her satin nightgown. Before she knew it, they both were naked, facing each other but not touching, their bodies on fire with profound need._

 _His eyes stormy with passion, Matthew said, "Close your eyes again, Mary."_

 _She obeyed, still sensing him nearby but now moving behind her. He ran one finger up her spine, causing her to shiver. "No peeking, Mary. I mean it."_

 _She heard a drawer open as well as what she assumed to be her closet door and couldn't resist asking, "What are you doing?"_

 _He kissed her cheek. "Never mind, love. Just stand still and keep your eyes closed." He saw her tremble slightly and noticed her breathing had become shallow. He smiled to himself, recalling how much she seemed to enjoy his mischievousness._

" _All right." She had no idea what Matthew had in store for her, but a thrill ran through her as she readied herself for whatever he might have in mind._

 _The air in the room fairly crackled with erotic electricity._

" _Do you trust me, my love?"_

" _Of course."_

 _Matthew gently tied something over her eyes and around her head. A scarf perhaps? The total darkness afforded by the blindfold caused her other senses to become more acute. He smelled of soap and cologne and sex, and she could hear him breathing and moving about the room. Her heart began to race in anticipation. "Now keep your eyes closed and come with me." He took her hands and led her toward the bed where he sat her on the edge, kissed her, lifted her legs, and leaned her back into the pillows. He stood over her a moment, enthralled by her luminous body, and then kissed her again and whispered, "Don't move." Her stomach fluttered with arousal as she heard him moving once again. She had no idea what he was doing, but her instincts told her she was about to experience great pleasure at his hands, so any nervousness she had felt initially was replaced with expectancy._

 _She felt his proximity, his scent caused her arousal to heighten, and she could hear him shaking out some sort of fabric._

" _Raise your arms above your head, Mary, and clasp your hands."_

 _She complied and felt something silken being wrapped around her wrists. She tried to lower her arms and realized she was tethered to the headboard. She was both exhilarated and somewhat apprehensive, but she trusted him implicitly and resolved to dismiss her inhibitions. His lips brushed her wrists. She smiled despite not knowing what Matthew had planned, but she had come to enjoy his playfulness and expected to reap great rewards as a result. He kissed her lips and lightly trailed his fingers down her arms to her neck and across her collarbones. He then moved to the end of the bed, grasped her ankles, and pulled her slowly down the length of the bed, stretching her body and filling her with expectancy. Her brain was whirling, lost in the sensation of helplessness coupled with intense desire. He exhaled, "Exquisite," and then his hands traveled up the length of her body savoring the contours of her legs, her hips, her waist, and her breasts leaving a trail of heat in their wake. One hand then slipped back down between her legs and three fingers found her center and circled and pressed, causing her to jerk wantonly. "So wet. So ready," he hissed. He leaned over her and ran his tongue along her lips as she moaned in frustration, the intensity of the moment nearly unbearable._

" _Matthew?" she whispered._

" _Are you all right, my love?"_

 _Her coherency almost gone, she answered, "Yes. Oh, yes."_

 _His lips grazed her mouth. "Let me know if it's too much."_

 _She nodded, unable to speak._

 _Straddling her knees, Matthew lightly ran the feather boa he had retrieved from her closet over her body from her wrists to her upper thighs, all the while watching her skin ripple from the sensation. Her nipples pebbled and her breathing increased as he continued to tease and stimulate her silken skin as the boa, his fingers, and his mouth worked in tandem. He stroked her center and felt the wetness on his hand, resisting the urge to stop the erotic play and sate their ardor. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "Do you like this? Do you want to continue?"_

" _Mmmmmm. Please."_

 _He kissed her, coaxing her tongue into a luscious dance, and then after dropping the boa onto the floor, he gently traced the outline of her body with a fur collar he had found in one of her drawers, the sensation causing her mouth to open and her body to ache with desire because of what she only could describe as delicious torture. As he continued to run the collar over her torso, he noticed the cup of chocolate on the side table. Using his finger, he tested the liquid to check its temperature, and finding it tepid, he stuck his finger into the cup once more. "Open your mouth, my darling. I have a treat for you." Mary opened her mouth, not knowing what to expect and was surprised to taste the chocolate Matthew had collected on his finger. She sucked his finger clean, and he repeatedly dipped it into the chocolate to let her have several more tastes. "My turn," he whispered, and once again he dipped his finger into the liquid; however, this time he drew a circle around the nipple on her left breast and licked off the chocolate, causing Mary to writhe and groan in response, her center clenching with desire. "You like that, do you?" Mary moaned and nodded. "Well, let's try this again." His tongue danced across her creamy skin, lapping the chocolate and sending Mary to the edge of lunacy. By the time he finished drawing and licking and sucking chocolate from the most sensitive parts of her body, more than half the cup was gone, and Mary was in the throes of her second release._

 _He untied the blindfold, kissed both of her eyelids, and moved to untie her hands._

 _Raising an eyebrow and smiling provocatively, she asked, "Wait…Matthew, do you suppose you could leave me this way just a little longer?"_

" _Forever and a day, my love."_

 _For the next hour, she discovered just how amenable he was to her request._

* * *

As they continued down the road, Matthew looked over and saw Mary's closed eyes and enigmatic smile. "What are you thinking of, darling?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm just wondering how many scarves Coco will include in her next collection." Her eyes narrowed enticingly. "Although next time I think _I'll_ be the one coming up with some fascinating new uses for them."

Matthew gulped and tried to keep his eyes on the road, resisting the urge to pull over and make an emergency stop next to the nearest copse.

* * *

 _Many thanks to Camilla 10 for her sharp eyes..._


	26. Chapter 26

On the outskirts of Downton, Mary and Matthew rode silently, each knowing the blissful time they had spent alone soon would come to an end. They would miss the many intimate moments that sleeping and waking together brought, and they were sure the three eldest Crawley women would try to prevent their sneaking about. Mary also expected that she'd arrive to find Cora in a whirl over wedding plans, aided no doubt by Isobel and Violet. Since Violet and Isobel had joined Cora at the Abbey because of the renovations to the Dower House and Crawley House, Mary also expected their continual presence would try her patience for a number of reasons. She sighed audibly.

"What is it, my darling?" asked Matthew.

"Oh, nothing, really. I just wish…"

He interrupted, "The same thing I wish."

They looked at each other and laughed.

"I'll be glad to be back at Downton, Matthew, truly. I just know Mama, Granny, and Isobel will be absolute sentinels when it comes to us. It seems so ridiculous when you think of it. It's not as if we're twenty."

"I agree, but I don't see that we have much of a choice unless we want to send all of them to their heavenly rewards in one fell swoop by declaring our intention to share a bed every night before the wedding. Besides, we'll go back to London for the engagement party Sarah and Stuart are hosting, right? And you have a dress fitting scheduled. That should take some of the edge off." He looked at her slyly, "And, as massive as it is, I'm sure there are places in the Abbey no one would think to explore."

"Well," she smiled, "it _is_ a rather large building. There are all sorts of nooks and crannies. But, heavens, if we were caught…"

"There's no doubt they would all howl at the moon in unison."

They laughed, thinking how scandalized Cora, Isobel, and Violet would be if they knew about Matthew's constant presence at Painswick House while Mary and he extended their stay in London.

"Perhaps it won't be as stifling at the house as we fear," said Matthew hopefully.

"I wouldn't count on it," was Mary's sardonic reply. "I suspect they have a schedule for standing guard around the clock and have included Carson and Mrs. Hughes in their scheme."

Matthew reached over and took her hand in his. "Well, at least we don't have long before the wedding, and we have the rest of our lives after that."

Mary smiled. "True. And what a wonderful rest-of-our-life it's going to be."

* * *

Mary and Matthew sat together on the settee, united and determined to face bravely what might have been described best as an inquisition. They sat with hands clasped attempting to look placid yet knowing the inquisitors would stop at nothing to find out all they could about exactly what went on during their time in London. Across from them in separate chairs sat Violet, Cora, and Isobel—each of whom seemed to have pre-arranged enquiries disguised as gentle questioning. Mary was indignant; Matthew was bemused.

" _Yes, Mama, I brought Coco's sketch of the gown with me, but I can't show it to you with Matthew here. I'll show it to you later."_

" _Yes, Mrs. Butte still is an excellent cook, Cousin Violet."_

" _The weather was lovely, Granny."_

" _Well, Cora, one night we ate at Restaurant Boulestin and danced at the May Fair."_

" _My head is fine, Isobel. Actually, staying an extra night in the hospital probably was a good idea."_

Three pairs of eyes peered at the couple, each set reflecting what Matthew and Mary were sure was an accusation of some sort.

 _Isobel's narrowed eyes and pursed lips indicated her suspicion that her son's ardor couldn't be controlled._

 _Cora's squinted eyes and lowered brow exposed her fear that yet another scandal might tarnish the Crawley name._

 _Violet's twinkling eyes belied her frown and revealed her delight in witnessing how ardently the young couple defended their actions._

Finally escaping the first phase of what they were sure were many sessions to come, the couple grabbed their coats and headed to their bench, each feeling the need of solace from the other. The early October day was breezy and crisp, but both Mary and Matthew preferred the chill to the heat they'd felt from the blazing eyes of the three women they had faced earlier.

"I thought we managed that rather well," Matthew said, settling on the bench next to Mary and relieved to be out of earshot.

"Oh, do you now? You should know we'll face more of the same at dinner." Mary's pique had reached its apex.

"Well, my darling, we'll just have to screw our courage to the sticking place and bear up."

"I suppose. I just don't appreciate being subjected to questioning as if I were a girl about to make her debut. It's not as if I haven't been living on my own for quite a while."

Smiling, Matthew brought her hand to his lips. "You still look like a girl of eighteen, though. And you're the most beautiful woman I've ever known. I'm willing to bear any amount of questioning as long as you're by my side." He sighed, "But these next weeks are going to be torture not being able to hold you in my arms whenever I want."

"I agree. I don't know how we're going to manage being apart." Mary's dark eyes peered into the ocean blue of Matthew's. The depth of the love she felt for him shocked her sometimes. Now that they were together, she wondered how she ever thought she could live without him. She remembered thinking she was contented with her life in London, but she now knew just how empty it had been. He completed her, filling her soul with the kind of happiness she never believed was possible. She was thrilled to know he seemed to feel that way, too. Many times she'd caught him gazing at her, his unspoken passion and love clearly evident in the way he always shifted to be near her.

"You realize I'd have been relegated to a room on the bachelors' corridor if it weren't for the fact I've already claimed a room in the family wing. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if my things haven't been relocated anyway."

Mary laughed and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Oh, Matthew, I'm afraid it's going to get worse before it gets better. We'll just have to stay busy to take our minds off our troubles."

"All right. Tomorrow you should accompany me to the Dower House to inspect the renovations. The next day we can go to Crawley House."

"Fine. That takes care of part of two days. Any other bright suggestions?"

"Well, I have a board meeting with the West Yorkshire Building Society on Thursday. You're welcome to come along and sit in." Matthew raised his eyebrows and grinned.

"No, thank you. I have boards of my own to deal with," sniffed Mary. "I certainly am not interested in joining another. But now that you mention it, I do need to look over Stuart's recommendations for additional home building in Brighton. Since we started building last year, the industry has become quite lucrative. I just wish we could expand the building into Yorkshire. I'm afraid the dependence on heavy industries here will not serve us well in future."

Matthew nodded. "You're right about that. The country still hasn't recovered from the war, and I fear the slump will continue. I'm afraid restoring the gold standard will have an adverse effect on the economy. I don't know what Churchill was thinking when he agreed to the bank's suggestion."

"I agree. It's…"

They suddenly stopped talking and looked at each other, abruptly bursting into gales of laughter.

Matthew chuckled, "Who would've thought we'd be discussing heavy industry, building trades, and the gold standard while sitting on our bench?"

"Who, indeed?" laughed Mary. "It seems as if we've grown up, Matthew. I'm not sure I'm thrilled about this turn of events."

"Well, my love, if this discussion is any indication, we're definitely well-suited as far as our business philosophies are concerned. I must admit, however, I'd rather see your eyes shining while pursuing other avenues of conversation."

With that Matthew began nuzzling Mary's neck, giving the three spectators at the window a reason for raised eyebrows.

* * *

Cora, Isobel, and Violet turned away from the window and moved to the sofa and to the tea that had cooled while they spied on the couple on the bench.

"I just don't know how we'll handle this," moaned Cora. "It's as if they're totally unaware of how this looks."

"How what looks?" replied Violet, looking distastefully at her teacup, annoyed that her tea now was lukewarm and past drinking.

"Oh, Mama, don't be obtuse. You know exactly to what I'm referring."

"I suppose I could manufacture a reason to visit Manchester and demand Matthew accompany me," said Isobel, her brow troubled. As proud as she was of Matthew, she knew he was a man of many passions, his feelings for Mary the prime example.

"That might work," replied Cora, "but how long could you keep him away? He has so many responsibilities here."

"Well, if you knew when we were returning, you could concoct a plan to travel somewhere with Mary, couldn't you?"

"Hmm. Possibly. I might be able to arrange a shopping trip to London…"

"Oh, good heavens!" snorted Violet. "Why don't you simply lock them away in separate cottages on opposite ends of the estate? Really, you two amaze me."

Cora and Isobel looked questioningly at Violet, surprised at her disdainful tone.

"It's obvious both of you have forgotten several important facts. First, they're not children. Do you really suppose either of them cares one whit about propriety? Mary is thirty-five, not seventeen, Cora. She's a grown woman, and we know she's capable of dealing with any slings and arrows society throws her way. As for you, Isobel, now that Matthew is with the woman he's loved for years, do you really suppose he would allow you to manipulate him like a puppet?"

"But, Mama…"

Violet raised an open hand and straightened her shoulders. "Secondly, we all know what it is to love someone beyond reason. Don't you see that kind of passion when you look at them? I admit, I find it ridiculous that they can't seem to be apart for a moment without reaching for each other, but by the same token, I find it quite stimulating to watch a young couple in love."

"Be that as it may, Cousin Violet, it's…"

Violet huffed and raised an eyebrow. "Thirdly— _thirdly—_ as long as they use discretion, I see nothing wrong with allowing them a little leeway. The harder you try to keep them away from each other, the harder they'll try to get around the barriers you put in place. They'll be married in a little over two months, so it's not as if we're talking about long-term vigilance. For heaven's sake, leave them alone."

Violet set her teacup down with such violence, both Cora and Isobel jumped.

"I suppose if they are discreet," mused Cora, "things will sort themselves out."

"I agree," added Isobel. "Matthew is aware of his obligations. We'll have to trust both of them to control themselves as best they can."

Violet sniffed, "Now that that's settled, do you suppose you could ring for a fresh pot of tea? I'm parched."

* * *

Mary and Matthew were surprised to find dinner that evening to be free of the kind of questioning they'd endured earlier in the day. Conversation was pleasant and centered on wedding plans, estate gossip, and, most benignly, the weather. Matthew was seated across from Mary and was rapt watching her as she chatted with various family members. As the candlelight threw shadows across her luminous skin, he was entranced by her beauty and found himself mesmerized as he remembered—

 _running his hands over her body_

 _hearing her crying his name_

 _melting into her_

 _waking to find his hand on her breast and his knee between her legs_

Minding Cousin Violet's close proximity in the seat next to his, he checked to ensure his napkin was placed strategically in his lap. He knew he was going to have to get his libido under control if he were to survive the next two months, but having Mary in such close quarters was going to make it a challenge.

"Isn't that right, Matthew?"

Pulling himself out of his reverie, he realized his mother had asked him a question. "I'm sorry, Mother. What were you asking?"

"Really, Matthew. That's the third time tonight I've had to repeat myself. It's as if you're in another world." _If she only knew!_ "I asked when you planned to visit the Dower House."

"Sorry, Mother, I've a lot on my mind." He gave her a chagrined look and shifted in his chair. "I thought Mary and I might go by there tomorrow to see what progress has been made. I understand from Forbes there's been a bit of a problem with the electrical wiring."

"Humph, as far as I'm concerned, you can rip out the wiring and reinstall the gas lighting. I don't know why Robert insisted on procuring that infernal generator," snapped Violet.

"Cousin Violet, I refuse to live in a house that's a throwback to the Dark Ages," retorted Isobel.

Ever the peacemaker, Cora interrupted, "I hope you plan to go to Crawley House, too."

"I do, actually," a relieved Matthew responded. "If we can't get there tomorrow, we'll go Tuesday. Forbes says the renovation there is moving along nicely."

As the meal continued in relative peace, Mary's and Matthew's eyes met across the table several times, and they exchanged knowing looks that were not missed by the others at the table. After one particularly heated gaze, Mary looked away hurriedly and began to talk with Edith, who along with Anthony, had joined the family for dinner. She had observed Matthew's coolness toward Edith and hoped to thwart any confrontation his knowledge of Edith's letter might provoke. Edith truly had been concerned for her sister's welfare following the train accident, so she was surprised by Matthew's stilted attitude toward her questions about Mary's recovery and found herself trying to convince him of her concern. Mary watched warily as Matthew parried Edith's comments and knew full well his reasons for doing so. He hadn't quite been able to put the knowledge of Edith's betrayal behind him, and try as he might, he found himself incapable of treating her as kindly as he had in the past. Mary hoped he would come around eventually, but in the meantime, she resolved to serve as a buffer between them.

* * *

Saying goodnight to Matthew at the top of the stairs was one of the hardest tasks Mary ever had undertaken. He held her cool hand in his warm one and whispered, "Goodnight, my darling. Sleep well." and kissed her cheek—all under the watchful eyes of the three sentinels, who stood in their respective doorways feigning interest in the hallway runner. Mary entered her bedroom, greeted Stephens, and sighed audibly. _It was going to be a long night._

* * *

Matthew rolled over and looked at the clock on the bedside cabinet yet again. As tired as he was from the drive back to Downton, he couldn't sleep. He knew why. "Impossible," he thought to himself as he reached over to the table lamp. Rolling out of bed, he found his dressing gown, tied the belt, toed his slippers, and opened his bedroom door gingerly. He walked quietly down the hallway, pausing momentarily in front of his fiancée's door, and then moved on toward the stairway. Mumbling to himself about moratoriums and sentries, he made his way down the stairs, thinking that a piece of cake and a glass of milk might help with the sleeplessness that plagued him.

When he reached the landing, he was surprised to see a light emanating from the bottom of the stairs. It was Mary holding a candlestick in one hand and plate in the other. When she looked up the stairway, she started. She stood still, unwittingly holding her breath as Matthew descended the stairs toward her. When he reached her, their eyes locked, and she set the plate on the bottom step. She put her finger to her lips and then took his hand.

She led him through the drawing room to a narrow doorway that opened to the smoking room. Opening the door carefully, she peered inside and motioned Matthew to follow. Once inside, she placed the candle on a side table and turned to face him, her face flushed and her eyes gleaming.

"You couldn't sleep either?" she asked softly.

"Not without you."

He took her face in his hands and kissed her so gently her knees almost gave way. Her hands unknotted the tie of his dressing gown, which fell to the floor as he shrugged, and she ran her hands beneath the top of his pajamas and up his back, reveling in the hard muscle under his velvet skin. She pulled his shirt up and off, trembling as she traced the warm strength of his shoulders and biceps as if she were committing his lines and ridges to memory. His hands, too, were not idle, untying the bow at her waist and pulling her sheer peignoir off her shoulders and revealing her translucent nightgown. His hands returned to her face, his fingers in her hair, the heel of his hand on her jaw. His head inclined at a slight angle, he leaned in and outlined her lips with his tongue and then slowly and softly worked his mouth to hers. The kiss was measured and languid at first, and Mary found herself almost dizzy with desire. Gradually, he strengthened the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue and stroking her palate as his hands continued to hold her face, the only other movement being his thumbs caressing her jaw. Her nipples hardened, and her belly quivered as Matthew continued the assault on her mouth, pausing only to murmur, "God, I love losing myself in you."

She took a step away from him. She crossed her arms, and her hands went to the shoulders of her gown. Hooking her thumbs under the lacy straps, she slowly slipped them down her arms, causing the gown to billow silently to the floor. The candle's faint light cast shadows over her glistening, naked body, and Matthew took in a deep breath at the vision before him. Before he could move to her, she reached for his hand and led him to the crackled leather sofa where he sat at her direction. She stood between his knees, leaned over him, and slowly ran her hands over his chest. Meeting his smoldering gaze, she then grasped the waistband of his pajama pants, pulled them off, and pitched them to the floor. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she straddled him and knelt on the sofa just as one of his hands moved to her velvet folds. He could feel the warm moisture of her arousal on his thighs as she embraced him and ran her lips up his neck and to his jaw, finally running her tongue around the shell of his ear, biting his earlobe and whispering, _"Forever and a day, my love"_ in a voice so seductive he almost lost what little self-control he had managed to maintain.

Just as Matthew's other hand reached for her breast, she rose to her knees and with a profound sigh, slowly lowered herself onto his throbbing member. As she threw back her head in ecstasy and rocked against him, she heard his sinuous voice, "Ahhhh, so tight…hot…wet. God, Mary, I love the way you feel around me." He sat up, drawing her slick body to his, and buried his face in her breasts as she fisted her hands in his silken hair. The exquisite pleasure of their intimate contact nearly undid them both as her rhythmic clenching complemented his upward thrusts. She loved that he filled her so completely, and the sensations intensified as his hands gripped her hips and shifted her so he could deepen the penetration. They both were flushed with arousal and exertion, yet their desire continued to strengthen— _throbbing…driving…spiraling…climbing…flying_. The thrill of their clandestine tryst magnified their desire, resulting in a passionate explosion that left them both breathless.

"That was the single most intense experience of my life," he murmured, his breath still ragged. "God, what you do to me."

With him still twitching inside her, she nestled into his neck where she could feel his pulse and smiled saying, "I'm yours, Matthew Crawley, totally and unequivocally, for the rest of our lives and beyond."

She sat up to move off him, but his hands moved to her back, and he shifted them so they were lying together, legs entwined, his head at her breast. She felt his arousal between her legs, and she closed her eyes, anticipation filling her loins.

"The night is still young, Mary," he murmured.

"Don't you mean the morning?" she whispered.

"Whenever. I'm not through with you."

Their mouths came together, and they moved as one, christening the sofa yet again.

* * *

The surreptitious rendezvous finally at an end, they re-dressed and made their way quietly up the staircase. Outside Mary's door they embraced tenderly, loath to separate. Matthew kissed her gently and whispered, "I'll see you in the morning, my love."

"I'm sorry I won't be waking in your arms," Mary replied wistfully, her hand caressing his cheek as she opened the door. Matthew watched as her form was enveloped by the red room's glow until the door closed with a quiet click, and he was forced to turn towards his own door. As he walked down the hallway to his bedroom, he thought he saw a faint light under Violet's door, but as he came closer, it was gone.

"Hmmm," he thought to himself, "it must have been a shadow."

Early the next morning, Carson was mystified when he saw a plate bearing a piece of dry cake sitting on the bottom step of the grand staircase. He had yet to discover the candlestick in the smoking room.


	27. Chapter 27

October passed and autumn began to blend into winter. Leaves blew across the grounds of the estate, and the trees' vacant branches cracked and creaked as the relentless wind blew through them unchecked. Even the evergreens seemed brace themselves as winter's onset loomed. Gone were the bright, sunny days of late summer, replaced by a misty, grey light that enveloped the countryside.

The bleakness of the landscape did little to affect life in the Abbey. Wedding planning took precedence over all other decision-making, and Mary and Matthew found themselves in a whirlwind that made them question whether elopement might not be a viable option. Violet and Isobel put their bickering aside and took it upon themselves to confront Reverend Travis about his refusal to allow the ceremony take place in the church, and after a rather contentious visit from the two women, he agreed to perform the ceremony at the Abbey. Cora was in her element helping Mary with wedding plans, determined to make the day a fitting one for an Earl and his future Countess. For their parts, Matthew and Mary spent a great deal of time smiling and nodding until one particularly galling conversation about the arrangements caused Mary to stamp her foot in frustration and confront Cora.

"Mama, you seem to forget whose wedding this is. The day is for Matthew and me, not for you or anyone else. I've told you we want to keep things as simple as possible. Orchids are out, as are the white doves. And we're not purchasing an organ! Really, Mama, it's as if you're not listening to us at all." Irritation was getting the better of her. The day had not started well since she had awakened with a backache, a daily occurrence for the past two weeks, and now she had a headache to match.

"I just want the day to be special is all," Cora whinged, her feelings hurt at her daughter's seeming lack of understanding.

Mary pinched the bridge of her nose as she replied, "It will be special enough. I did not agree to your having free rein to plan this wedding! I'm marrying Matthew. That's all I want. Now, unless you want us to elope to Gretna Green, you'll stop acting as if this is the wedding of the century."

Cora pouted, "But it _is_ the wedding of the century to me."

Matthew interjected, sensing the "discussion" was about to get out of control. He recognized the signs of Mary's annoyance and said firmly, "Cora, we appreciate all you're doing, but Mary knows what she wants, and that's all that matters to me. She has the final say. Now if you'll excuse us, I need Mary's help with some paperwork." With that, he took Mary's hand and led her to the study.

Once inside the room, he took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. She caught her breath, then pursed her lips, and said, "I know what you're doing, Matthew."

"And what is that, my love?" His eyes flashed merrily.

"You're trying to distract me and convince me not to scratch out Mama's eyes."

"Well, am I successful?"

She raised one eyebrow and looked at him pensively. "I'm not sure. Try convincing me again."

* * *

Since their return from London, Matthew and Mary had been working together on estate business. One day he surprised her with an enormous partners' desk he had ordered from a local carpenter, telling her he expected her to pull her weight when decisions involving the estate had to be made. Although she laughed when she saw the two desk chairs on either side of the piece, inwardly she will thrilled with the gesture. They worked together in the mornings—pouring over investments and mapping out strategies—and spent many afternoons visiting tenants and overseeing the renovations on the Dower House and Crawley House. Though they had not managed to share a bed, when given the opportunity, they took advantage of their time alone—each encounter exhilarating in its inventiveness. She blushed when she thought about their most recent mid-day tryst at the Dower House:

 _Forbes had asked them to stop by and_ _look at the millwork, and after signing off on the finishes, they wandered upstairs to inspect Violet's completed suite. While the workmen were downstairs putting final touches on the kitchen, Mary found herself in the clutches of a quite randy Matthew. After his mouth took hers and before she could catch her breath, he had managed to divest her of her knickers and had her leaning face down onto Violet's new mahogany dressing table. He pulled her legs back and spread them apart and slammed into her. His hands grasped her hips as his rhythmic thrusts were accompanied by her fervent groans. She raised her head, and her eyes locked on his in the mirror, the passionate intensity reflected in the glass becoming an erotic show neither could look away from. "Come on, Mary…God, you feel so good," he rumbled, as he felt her release approaching. She went over with a moan, and he arched his back and followed, unable to take his eyes off her reflection as she trembled in his arms._

 _As they straightened their clothing, Mary noted, "I suppose you realize when I visit Granny, I won't be able to keep a straight face if I come into this room."_

 _Matthew gently tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and kissed her. "Hmmmm. 'Come' is an interesting term to use. For my part, this may be one of my favorite rooms in this house."_

 _Mary raised an eyebrow, grabbed his hand, and led him out of the room. "Don't be vulgar. It's time we got back to the big house, Casanova."_

* * *

Remembrance Day was approaching, and Mary noticed how Matthew's demeanor changed as the day drew closer. Gone were his ready smile and biting wit, replaced by a somber manner she only could ascribe to memories he kept bottled away. Mary observed changes in his behavior towards her, as well. He was moody and impatient, and his lovemaking became more zealous, more impulsive, almost overwhelming her. Although he kept insisting to her he was "fine," she knew better and credited his desperate lovemaking to a need for some kind of oblivion. She recognized well enough how the war affected him, remembering the depression and nightmares he experienced during his recovery all those years ago, but she had not realized that his painful recollections resurfaced each November.

For Matthew's part, the arrival of every November since the Armistice brought the same darkness to his soul. He could not bring himself to share with anyone many of his memories of the war. Over the years, Robert had tried to engage him in conversation, but Matthew was tight-lipped about his experiences. Some things simply were too horrific to share—

the blast of the signal whistle that brought madness,

the legs and arms and old boots that littered battlefields,

the acrid stench and filth of the trenches,

the flashes of machine gun fire and the pinch of barbed wire,

the screams and cries of the dying,

the vacant eyes of the dead.

And like so many other veterans, when Matthew left the battlefield, he packed up the war with him in his mind and body.

One particularly dreary Monday afternoon, Mary entered the study and found him sitting at his desk, a pen in his hand and a clean sheet of paper before him. He seemed a million miles away.

"There you are! I've been looking for you."

He regarded her, his eyes glassy and unfocused. He shook off his brown study and replied peevishly, "Yes, what is it?"

She approached his desk and remarked carefully, "I thought we were meeting Forbes at the Dower House this afternoon to approve new fixtures and paint colors."

He leaned back in his chair. "Oh, that's right. I'd forgotten." He looked at her contritely. "I'm sorry, my love. I didn't mean to snap at you." He rubbed his eyes and stared at his desktop, a sour frown on his face.

She placed her hand on his shoulder and said quietly, "You're forgiven. Now, what are you working on?" She tried to adjust her tone to reply pleasantly but couldn't hide the undercurrent of concern in her voice.

Matthew sighed. "Remembrance Day is this Friday, and I'm still trying to prepare remarks. I have no idea where to begin. Robert always handled the village ceremony. All I had to do was get my bloody uniform out of storage and stand at attention." His voice became strident. "The day is difficult enough without having to lead the service. God knows I don't like being reminded about any of it!"

Mary was startled. She never had seen him so agitated and knew he was struggling to maintain his composure. "Perhaps if you step away for a bit," she said cautiously, "you'll be able to shake the cobwebs away. The motor is out front. Let's get away from here for a while."

"Very well. I certainly am not accomplishing anything just sitting here." With that, he stood and kissed her cheek. Hand-in-hand they walked to the front door, stopping as Carson helped them don their coats. After he started the motor, he turned to Mary and said seriously, "I know I've been hard to live with these past few days, Mary. It's hard to explain, but I find this time of year so oppressive. I'm sorry you have to deal with my foul mood."

"Oh, Matthew, don't apologize. I can't begin to understand all of what you went through during the war, but I'm concerned you're letting this ceremony have a negative effect on you."

"How else _should_ it affect me?" he asked incredulously. "Millions died, and millions more were wounded. What can I possibly say that would comfort those left behind?"

"I can't tell you that, Matthew. What I _can_ tell you is no one else is more suited to the task. You should have more faith. The words _will_ come. No one expects an oration, just say what's in your heart."

* * *

That evening after dinner, Matthew returned to his study. Determined to complete his task, he grabbed a decanter of whisky and poured himself a stiff drink. The liquor burned going down, but he ignored the sting and poured himself another, downing it quickly. Excruciating memories began to crowd his brain—faces of comrades, along with sights, sounds, and smells, all related to his time in the trenches—so he grasped his pen and began to write. As the desk lamp illuminated the paper and the dark amber liquid in his glass, he remembered Mary's admonition to say what was in his heart, and he began to write furiously, pausing occasionally to grasp the cold crystal glass and bring it to his lips. The words began to flow across the page as he allowed his thoughts to coalesce. Removing his jacket and tie and pouring yet another drink, he continued to write, lost in his memories, reliving the pain, trying to find the words that would do justice to the fallen. Finally, he had no more words. He tried to catch his breath. Running his fingers through his hair, he read over what he had written. He knew the message would need some editing, but he was satisfied with the draft and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and exhaling loudly.

"So, you've finished?"

He sat up quickly and espied Mary curled into the corner of the settee, her crimson dressing gown tucked around her legs. Except for the light of the desk lamp, the room was dark, so her shadowy figure was barely discernable.

 _When had she come into the study?_

"How long have you been sitting there? Why didn't you say anything?" He stood, finished his drink, and ambled over to her, not quite unsteady on his feet but slightly wobbly.

"A while—probably an hour or so. You were concentrating so hard I didn't want to disturb you. Did you finish?"

"I've made a fairly decent start, I think, but it needs some polish." He shook his head. "I can't believe I didn't notice when you came in."

"Oh, I can be quiet when I need to be. May I read it?"

He turned away and mumbled, "Not yet. I'm not sure it's ready for public consumption."

Mary pursed her lips. _He's been so contrary lately_. She unwound herself and stood, her hand on her aching back. "Very well then. I'll leave you to it."

Turning back to her and smirking slyly, he said, "You're especially beautiful when you're aggravated, Mary."

Her chin rose. "I beg your pardon. I most certainly am _not_ aggravated. I simply asked if I could read what you've written. Obviously, you're not ready to share it."

He moved closer, grasped her waist, and pulled her body to his. "When I _am_ ready to share it, you'll be the first to read it. I promise." He nuzzled her neck and gave her earlobe a gentle nip. "God, you smell delicious."

"Matthew, please, not here." She tried to pull away, but he held her fast.

He seized the back of her neck with one hand and moved the other into the opening of her dressing gown and squeezed her breast. "Why? Don't you want me?" His mouth moved down her neck and brushed her collarbone, causing Mary's breath to catch.

"Of course I do, but we'd be taking an awful chance. The servants are still about…"

"That's what makes it so exciting, my love." Suddenly, Mary found herself backed against the wall, Matthew's body pressing and grinding into hers. Alcohol and urgency colored his voice. "No one will come in. I want you so much I ache, Mary. God help me, I crave you all the time." Her silken skin, throbbing pulse, and scent of arousal nearly overwhelmed him. "I want to make love to every inch of you and then start all over again."

"Matthew…," she whimpered, as his lips crushed hers. She was flushed with desire and returned his kiss. "We shouldn't…not here…oh, God." Her body was on fire and begged for attention, and the risky location fomented her desire. She gasped as he tore the sash from her dressing gown and ripped open the garment. As she clutched his shoulders, his hands were unrelenting—roaming over her torso, kneading her breasts, gripping between her legs, traveling up to her neck—until she felt as if she would melt into his grasp.

"I need to be inside you, Mary, please." His hands and mouth were relentless, and she was weak with longing. She'd seen hints of this aggressive Matthew previously, but now it was as if desperation were guiding his mind and body. Her trembling hands loosened his belt and trousers as his hands raised her gown to her waist. Her leg hooked around his left hip, and he bit her shoulder as he entered her, forcing a gasp from her throat. He took her knee in the crook of his arm, and she bucked against him shamelessly, lost in the licentiousness of the moment, and he drove into her repeatedly, his efforts reflected in his uncontained grunts and moans.

Their faces were so close, she could see dark flecks in the cerulean that surrounded his dilated pupils, and he snarled, "Now, Mary, now, go over for me. This feels so good…God, I need to watch you go over." He continued to pound into her relentlessly until, finally, her body quaked as her orgasm shredded her, and he muffled her scream with his mouth. Matthew groaned as felt her inner walls clench and throb, and wave after wave crashed over him as the intensity of his own orgasm overtook him.

Perspiration covered their bodies as they panted and trembled, their hearts hammering and their bodies coursing with electricity as they tried to recover a semblance of control. Matthew kissed her repeatedly, and she responded by embracing him and whispering, " _Intense_. That's the word I was thinking of. We were quite out of control."

Matthew placed his forehead against hers and responded, "Are you all right, my darling? I'm sorry if…"

Mary placed a finger on his mouth. "Don't apologize, Matthew. You needed that release, and part of me did, too. I was as caught up in the moment just as you were."

Tears clouded his eyes when he saw the love and concern in hers. "I don't know what I ever did without you. You're everything to me."

"And I love you, so very, very much. Always remember that when things seem overwhelming, my darling."

He shuddered in her embrace and kissed her again.

* * *

Remembrance Day dawned sunny and brisk. Gone were the dreary days preceding it, much to the relief of those planning to attend the ceremony. Matthew had been taciturn at breakfast, but he was resolute to shake his anxiety about the day and press on to fulfill his responsibility. Before the family gathered to leave for the village, Mary pulled him aside and pressed something into his hand.

He looked at her, his eyes curious. "A poppy? It looks well used."

"It is. It's one of Madame Guérin's original poppies. I bought it in London in 1921 and have worn it every year since. I want you to have it today—for luck and remembrance. I realize you can't wear it on your uniform, so put it in your pocket."

Matthew smiled. "Very well. It can join my companion." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, well-worn stuffed dog. "See? Without a scratch…well, almost."

Mary gasped and tears sprang to her eyes. "Oh, Matthew! You still have it? I've always wondered…"

"Of course, I still have it. Since you gave it to me, it's been my lucky charm, too. It's gotten me through a number of sticky situations."

"I remember finding it among your things when you were brought here after you were wounded. I never knew what became of it."

"Sybil returned it to me. I'll never forget the day you gave it to me." He wiped the tears from her cheeks and kissed her.

She said with a quavering voice, "I wanted so much to tell you I loved you. I always regretted that I didn't."

"As I recall, I said something silly about being a happy man when what I really wanted to do was take you in my arms."

They stood forehead to forehead, holding each other tightly, overwhelmed with emotion, the intensity of that moment so long ago washing over them, gratified to be together at last.

* * *

The area around the cenotaph was filled with onlookers, most of whom had lost family members in the war. A dais was set up next to the monument, and dignitaries sat somberly awaiting their turns to speak. Matthew looked out over the crowd and caught Mary's eye. She nodded to him, and he gave her a resolute smile. When it was his turn to speak, he took a deep breath, rose from his chair, and walked to the podium, his hand in his pocket. He began by acknowledging those in attendance, and as he spoke, the crowd realized he was someone who had a vested interest in the ceremony. Where Robert's speeches in years past had been laudatory and elevated, Matthew's speech was simple and heartfelt. His words captured the day's significance, and his listeners were caught up in his personal tribute to the memory of his fallen comrades. Never had Mary been more proud of him because she knew much of what he said was impromptu, especially his final words:

 _This minute, this hour, this day, we dedicate to our dead._ _I am burdened with a sense of immodesty for having to utter words on this occasion, for there are not words enough to express what's in my heart._ _We set apart this day to honor all those, now gone, who made the cause of this country their supreme objective._ _Today we commemorate their courage, their service, their sacrifice—their spirit—that sustains everything we hold to be good and true._ _This spirit will never die._ _Our dead brothers still live for us, and bid us think of life—of life to which in their youth they gave passion and delight._ _Today, by recognizing what has been lost to us and by renewing our pledge to remember, we declare they are not gone. They will be with us—always. Let me close with the words of Laurence Binyon:_

 _They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old;_

 _Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn._

 _At the going down of the sun and in the morning_

 _We will remember them._

At the first stroke of eleven, a hush fell over the crowd. Hats were removed, some heads were bowed, tears were wiped away—no one stirred. Veterans stood with shoulders straight, and widows clutched their children. The two-minute silence in memory of the dead produced a palpable stillness as each person in attendance remembered faces…names…smiles…touches…and sacrifices.

When the two minutes ended, there was a collective sigh, and the crowd began to disperse. As Matthew raised his head to look for Mary, he heard his mother cry, "Matthew!"

He looked in her direction and saw Mary lying on the ground.


	28. Chapter 28

By the time Matthew reached Mary, Doctor Clarkson was bent over her, and Cora, Isobel, and Violet were huddled together, trying to make sense of the sight before them. Mary lay still, pale and unconscious, obviously the victim of some kind of fainting spell or illness. The somberness of the day had taken a grim turn.

"My darling!" Matthew called as he knelt beside Mary and held her clammy hand. Looking to his mother, he asked, "What happened?"

"I really don't know, Matthew. One minute she was beside me observing the silence; the next minute she was on the ground."

Cora was wringing her hands. "She whispered 'Oh, Mama' and something else I didn't understand, and then she simply crumpled to the ground. Doctor Clarkson, please, what's wrong?"

Clarkson looked at Matthew and said, "I need to get her to my office before I can determine the cause. Can you manage, your Lordship?"

"Of course." Matthew gently took Mary into his arms and as Clarkson led the way, he carried her to a quaint, vine-covered building that housed the doctor's office. All the way there, Matthew whispered to her pallid form, "Please, my darling, wake up. I'll take care of you. Please, Mary, I need you to wake up." He thought she had been a little "off" lately, but nothing indicated she truly was ill. _Had his own troubles made him blind to hers?_

Once inside, Clarkson motioned to Matthew to lay her on a table in one of the examination rooms at the back of his office. As Matthew stood over her, her eyelids began to flutter, and she moaned softly.

"Mary? Lie still, darling."

Mary opened her eyes, looked at Matthew hovering over her, and asked, "What happened?"

"You collapsed, my darling." In attempt to lighten the moment, Matthew said, "I didn't realize my speech was that powerful."

Mary smiled wanly. "It was wonderful. I'm so proud of you."

Clarkson moved to the table. "If you'll step into the other room so I can perform an examination, your Lordship. Please."

Matthew shook his head and insisted, "I'm not leaving her side!"

Mary touched his cheek and smiled. "I'm all right. Please, Matthew. Do as he says."

Matthew reluctantly backed out of the room. _She was so pale and drawn._ "Very well, but I'll be right outside."

"Lady Mary, I'm going to loosen your clothing. Can you tell me how you're feeling?" Clarkson began to examine her, checking her pulse and temperature and palpating her abdomen.

"A little light-headed, I suppose."

"Have you been ill recently?"

"No, not really."

"Tell me how you were feeling before you collapsed."

"Well, I awoke with both a headache and a backache this morning and felt a little sick to my stomach, but by the time we left for the ceremony, I was fine. I was listening to Matthew's speech, and all of a sudden I was dizzy. I remember saying to Mama I thought I was going to faint. Then I work up here."

His examination complete, Clarkson said, "Sit up, please. Now, Lady Mary, I need to ask you some very personal questions."

* * *

The fears of those in the waiting area were calmed when Clarkson assured them that Mary was fine and would recover from her fainting spell but that she should rest the remainder of that afternoon. He attributed her fainting to the excitement of the day and her not eating breakfast. When she emerged from the examination room, she looked slightly self-conscious and assured them she felt much better.

"The motor's outside. Let's get you home right away," said a harried Matthew, his arm placed tenderly around her waist.

"No, that's not necessary. I'm feeling much better, honestly. I'd like to walk. Please, Matthew."

He looked to Clarkson, who nodded, so Matthew escorted Cora, Violet, and Isobel to the motor, assuring them he would see Mary made it home safely.

Walking along the lane towards the Abbey, Mary snuggled into Matthew, holding onto his arm and his hand covering hers. Being in his presence always made her feel protected and safe, and now that she had news to share with him, she was going to need his protection more than ever.

"You gave me quite a scare, Mary. All I could think of was the train accident and how pale and still you must have been that day. Are you sure you're all right? Perhaps you should see another doctor." Based on his own experience with Clarkson, Matthew didn't have the greatest confidence in the man's abilities. _A second opinion might be in order._ He wanted to take no chances with Mary's health.

"I'm perfectly fine, Matthew. It was just a dizzy spell." She looked at him fondly and smiled. He always was so solicitous towards her. _She loved him so_. "I promise. Please don't worry."

 _Why was she so stubborn?_ He wanted to get her back to the Abbey and hold her in his arms for the remainder of the afternoon. "Mary, don't play with me. You were unconscious; it was more than a 'spell.' In fact, you're still rather pale except for the flush on your cheeks."

"I'm fine. Really. Let's not talk about it anymore. I want you to know how very proud of you I was today. Your speech was wonderful, so moving and heartfelt; I know it was hard for you."

"It was. I'm just relieved it's over. Now I can pack away this uniform and try to get back to normal." It _had_ been a difficult day, in more ways than one, so getting through it was a great relief. _He was luckier than most of the other poor bastards who had to deal with the aftermath of the war_. "Thank you for being so supportive, Mary. I mean it. I know I've been hard to deal with."

She gave his arm a squeeze and said, "'Dealing with you' is easy, Matthew. I love you. It's as simple as that."

They reached the Abbey's grounds, and Mary led Matthew to their bench. "I think we should sit here for a bit before we go inside." When he hesitated, she took his hand in hers and said, "Come. I'm fine."

"Mary, Doctor Clarkson said you should rest this afternoon."

"I know, and I will. I need to talk with you first, though."

"Mary? What's going on? Did Clarkson say something else?"

"As a matter of fact, he did. Let's sit."

Matthew's heart leapt to his throat. Mary's serious demeanor scared him. _God, is something wrong? Is she ill?_ "My darling, what is it?"

She looked down at her hands clasped in Matthew's. "Well, things won't exactly be getting back to normal any time soon." She then looked into his eyes and saw they were wide with fear. She caressed his cheek and, smiling, said softly, "I'm pregnant."

* * *

Matthew was stunned. The oppressive gloom he'd felt for days was replaced with a kind of heady joy. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Mary tightly, finally letting her go after she gasped that she was unable to breathe. "You're pregnant? Oh, Mary, you've made me the happiest man in Yorkshire…Wait! No, in England…possibly in the world! Oh, this is wonderful!" The unbridled elation on his face suddenly was replaced with concern. "But, are you all right, my darling? Is that why you fainted? Do you need a lie down? My God, Mary, what did Clarkson say?"

Mary laughed. "Slow down, Matthew. I'm fine. My backaches and headaches evidently were symptoms, along with the nausea I've been feeling the last several days. I just didn't realize…"

"A baby! God, Mary, do you know how very happy I am?" His eyes filled with tears as he took her back into his arms.

She pulled away and gazed at him intently. "I must admit I'm in a bit of a shock. You know I wasn't sure this was possible. Now that it's happened, I must ask, are you sure you're pleased? I mean, we haven't been together that long…"

He brought her hands to his lips and kissed her fingers gently. "Listen to me very carefully. I love you. I've loved you for what seems like forever. This child is the product of that love." He continued speaking as tears coursed down Mary's cheeks. "Never doubt that this child is wanted, just as you never should doubt that I love you. Now, tell me, when might we expect this little miracle?" His hand settled gently atop Mary's soft hand that had moved unconsciously to cover the new life within her.

"I'm not very far along, so Doctor Clarkson cannot say for certain, but I think I might have conceived that first time we were together, so I'd say… perhaps…early July?" She blushed as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. "I'm embarrassed to say I had no idea what the symptoms I've been having meant. I thought they were related to having to deal with wedding planning and your unhappiness lately."

Matthew looked at her, his brow furrowed with concern. "I'm sorry I've been so distant. I suppose having to organize Remembrance Day and all that goes along with it just was overwhelming. I wish I could put aside my memories of the war—most of the time I can—but this time of year they seem to come roaring back."

"Well, now you can remember this day for the _good_ memory it creates."

"I can and I will. You've made me a happy man, Mary—happier than I deserve, perhaps, but happy nonetheless."

As they sat together on their bench, Mary burrowed into the warmth of Matthew's embrace, and each of them imagined the joy the future would bring.

* * *

As Violet, Cora, and Isobel rode together to the Abbey from Doctor Clarkson's office, Cora and Isobel talked quietly about what might have caused Mary's collapse. Violet chose not to participate in Isobel's and Cora's conversation or to share her suspicions about Mary's condition, believing the situation would be moot soon enough since the wedding was a little over a month away. She was no fool. She was aware that Mary and Matthew's relationship was more than platonic. She had witnessed Matthew's occasional late-night forays from his room to Mary's and recognized the looks of longing they exchanged whenever they were together. She set her jaw and resolved to confirm her suspicions as soon as possible.

* * *

When Mary entered her room to rest after sharing the news of her pregnancy with Matthew, the first thing she saw was her reflection in the full-length mirror that stood next to the window. She paused at the door for a moment and then walked slowly toward her image. She placed her hand on her belly and turned to the side, looking carefully at her reflection. _There's no bump or anything._ She rubbed the area gently, watching her hand move, trying to discern evidence of the new life she was carrying, and then she looked at her face. Outwardly, she was the same Mary Crawley who for years lived a life of solitude in London, filled with regret and disappointment, but strong enough to press on. How her life had changed in the space of less than a year! Being with Matthew again had kindled all the passion and hopefulness for the future she thought was lost to her. Yes, the face was the same, but now her eyes no longer were empty. Loving Matthew without constraint had done that. Gone were the doubt, shame, and desolation that had so filled her years ago, replaced by a love that seemed to envelop her in sheer happiness.

She smiled, remembering how thrilled Matthew was at the news. _A child! I'll be a mother and Matthew a father._ This child was her gift to him and his to her. She remembered Matthew's playfulness with her sisters' children and her fear he might never have the pleasure of enjoying children of his own. Doctor Clarkson had assured her all was well so far but that nature would have to take its course. She closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer.

She heard a rap at her door and turned to answer when the door opened, and Violet entered the room.

"May I come in, my dear?"

"Of course, Granny."

Violet perched on the edge of Mary's bed, her back straight and her hands crossed on the handle of her ebony cane. "We were very worried today, Mary. You gave us quite a scare."

"I was just about to rest. I'm fine, Granny, truly."

"I can see that, but I've had my suspicions lately, and this episode today quite confirms them."

"What do you mean? What kind of suspicions?"

"Don't play coy with me, my dear. Since you and Matthew returned from London, it's been obvious that you've shared…shall I say…certain intimacies normally ascribed to the marriage bed." Her eyebrows rose inquisitively. "Will you deny it?" Violet's sharp gray eyes belied the softness in her face.

Mary's hand moved instinctively to her belly. _How long had she been doing that?_ Violet noticed the gesture and leaned towards the granddaughter she loved best in the world.

Facing her grandmother, she squared her shoulders and answered unfalteringly, "No, Granny, I won't deny it."

"I see. Well, you certainly won't be the first bride carrying a child while walking down the aisle. How long have you known? More importantly, have you told Matthew?"

"I didn't know until today." Violet raised an eyebrow. "Honestly, Granny. I had no idea. I told Matthew as soon as we arrived here."

"And his reaction?"

"He's thrilled, Granny. Truly."

"Well, he should be, considering…."

Just as Violet was about to remark on the childless state of Matthew's marriage, Matthew opened Mary's door and peered inside the room. "My darling, are you…? Oh! Cousin Violet, I just came to check on Mary." Matthew's face immediately matched the room's red glow. "I didn't realize you were in here."

"Obviously not, judging from your reaction. Come. Sit. You, too, Mary."

"I just wanted to…"

"Never mind. I insist. Both of you, sit."

Matthew took Mary's hand, and they walked to the velvet loveseat, both of them fully expecting to be the target of Violet's considerable wrath. To their surprise, Violet pressed her lips together into a tight smile.

"I understand congratulations are in order, Matthew."

Matthew stiffened as Mary gripped his hand and whispered, "She knows."

Matthew swallowed hard and said, "Yes, indeed, Cousin Violet, it's very good news, but…but I'm sure you must be shocked."

"Humph. I'm stronger than I look, dear boy. Seven- or eight-month babies never have been rarities in our family." Mary's eyebrow shot up at that revelation. "On the contrary, you might be shocked to learn I'm gratified to know life will go on, that I might live to see a new generation of Crawleys continue our legacy." Her eyes twinkled as she noted the surprised looks on the couple's faces. "You love each other, that much is clear, and that in itself is enough for me. I presume the wedding will take place on the scheduled date?"

"Yes, I assume so, Granny. I'm not very far along, so…"

"Good. A change of date would only draw suspicion. I insist, however, that you tell your respective mothers. Eventually they'll figure things out for themselves, but you owe them an honest accounting."

"Give us a day or two to absorb this, Cousin Violet," said Matthew as he gazed at Mary. "I promise we'll tell them soon."

* * *

Sleep had not come easily to Matthew that night. Visions of Mary and children and responsibilities filled his brain, and he tossed for a while, finally succumbing to exhaustion caused by the gamut of emotions he had experienced that day. After an hour or two of dreamless sleep, Matthew slowly drifted awake and became aware of Mary's presence next to his bed. "Mary? Are you all right?" he whispered. Her shadowy form stood stock still. She was a vision in her gossamer gown. He sat up and reached for the light on his side table, but her hand covered his to stop him. The moonlight emanating from the window cast a glow on her form that made her appear to be some kind of glorious apparition. He held his hand out to her.

"Yes…no…I...I don't know." She grasped his warm hand with her icy one.

He pulled back the bedcovers, and she slipped sideways into his embrace. "I need you," she whispered against his neck, her fingers in his hair. "So much."

His response was instantaneous. As he held her, he dragged his lips across her neck, and she stretched against him, her body undulating as she sought his warmth. Hands, limbs, and torsos moved and gyrated slowly as the two lovers nestled into each other. His hands kneaded her flesh as hers gripped his, the scrapes of her nails causing him to shudder at the heated sensations they produced. This, _this,_ was what they both craved. Lying together offered protection and warmth and sensuous fulfillment. Every centimetre of his body sought every centimetre of hers, so they moved in tandem—probing, caressing, seeking release from the bonds of desire. He gathered the fabric of her gown in his hands and slowly lifted it off her body. His nightclothes followed, landing in a heap beside the bed, and his hands found her bare breasts, one hand then moving to relish the surge of moisture between her legs. as his mouth murmured passionate words against her mouth. His hip nudged hers, and she shifted under him. "Tell me what you need, Mary," he whispered in a sonorous voice heavy with desire that rumbled into her chest, causing her to writhe in response.

"I…ahh…please, Matthew."

" _Tell me."_

"Inside me…I need you…inside me, God, please."

"Very well, love, but first…"

"Ohhh…please…"

"Patience, my darling, patience."

Slowly he kissed his way down the middle of her body as her hands moved from his shoulders and grabbed fistfuls of his hair. By the time his face reached her pelvis, her hips were rising and falling to accommodate the two fingers that had entered her. He stroked, plunged, surged into the velvet warmth as she pleaded with him not to stop. He looped his arms underneath her thighs and clamped his hands over her hips, fixing them to the mattress and giving him purchase to lap at the center of her pleasure, her upper body arching at the sensation. Her breathing turned to gasps as his relentless onslaught continued until, blessedly, her body stiffened, her belly rippled, and she exploded into his mouth. Mary was breathless as he worked his way back up her body, and still shaking from the force of her climax, she took his face in her hands and kissed him wantonly, tasting her own salty sweetness on his lips and tongue.

"Now, Matthew…please." Their eyes locked, their breaths stilled—there was no sound other than the soft rustle of sheets disturbed by arms and legs searching for further contact. Still staring into Mary's eyes, Matthew raised his torso and positioned his throbbing head right at her entrance, and he reached between them and stroked up and down teasing between her folds before gently massaging the nub with his fingers. "You like that?" he purred, knowing the obvious answer.

"Yes…Oh, Matthew, please. So good…so…"

Her legs rose and locked together behind his back, and he groaned into her mouth as he rocked his pelvis, and sank into her velvet folds all the way to the hilt. She was so soft…so hot…so wet. He could feel her start to quiver, so he paused, causing her to groan. "Not yet, Mary. Not yet, my love." She felt his hard length pulse inside her and began to thrust her hips upward to encourage him to move. He began driving into her over and over again—deep and slow; then he began plunging faster and taking her mouth, swallowing her moans, feeding off her pleasure, feeling the heat that radiated from her body—

erotic

searing

sensuous

shameless

He ran his arms under her shoulders and brought his hands up until his fingers ran through her hair and cupped her head. He held her firmly against him, clamping her shoulders to his, grinding his pelvis into her and sending jolts of pure pleasure throughout her body. She arched her back to meet him and undulated her body beneath his as she called his name and seized once again, and he uttered a deep, guttural moan, threw his head back, and reached his own release. They held each other until he raised himself to his forearms and gently began kissing her neck, shoulders and chest as she ran her fingers through his hair.

"You tormented me for a while," she whispered.

"But you love me for it." His azure eyes crinkled in amusement.

"I suppose I do," she replied softly.

Suddenly tears welled in her eyes, and she found herself trying to wipe them away without being noticed. It was no use. Matthew's face reflected his concern.

"What is it, my darling?" he whispered, as he nestled her into his arms and rubbed her back soothingly.

"It's…it's just that everything has happened so quickly. Seeing you again…our engagement…being with you this way…and now the baby. It's overwhelming."

His hands stopped moving, and he leaned up on his elbow. "What are you saying? Talk to me, Mary, please."

Her tears were unleashed, and for a moment she couldn't speak. Finally, she sobbed quietly, "I've never been so happy, Matthew, and it scares me. I couldn't sleep tonight because I missed you so terribly."

He held her close and chuckled. "I feel the same way, my darling. Please don't cry. How can I help?"

She looked down at her hand in his and stroked her thumb over his knuckles. "I wish…I just miss you…that's all. I know I'm being silly. After all we'll be in London again soon, and after that we'll be married…so…." She pulled away, wiped the tears from her face, and smiled at him. "I'm just emotional, that's all. Forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive, Mary. I've missed you, too." His eyes shining with love and tenderness, he whispered, "Let me show you how much."

* * *

Sitting in the drawing room next to Matthew two days after the revelation about her pregnancy, Mary watched her mother and Isobel carefully. The news had shocked them both, and judging from their expressions, they absorbed the information differently. The dichotomy was obvious, even in their physical reactions.

Cora's lip trembled, her hand went to her throat, and her posture became rigid. Her mind raced with how best to express her astonishment and disappointment. She knew it was too late to counsel her headstrong daughter, whose steadfast gaze tolerated no reprimand, so she opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, rather like a fish pulled unexpectedly from a bowl. Although Matthew's siring an heir was welcome news, the timing was beyond the pale as far as Cora was concerned. Mary's independence and stubbornness always had grated on her mama, and now this was the ultimate betrayal of society's mores that Cora held so dear. Mary was unmarried and pregnant! It was Cora's worst nightmare, even if the wedding would take place soon.

Isobel, on the other hand, sat up first in stunned delight and then slumped against the back of the settee. She knew in her soul that there never would be a child more wanted, more treasured, and her heart rejoiced for Matthew. Despite her son's taciturn expression, Isobel knew what having a child with the love of his life meant to him. She did not approve of sexual relations outside of marriage, but the deed was done—better to move on, embrace the result, and cherish the child to come. She glanced at Violet sitting smugly in the wingback chair and felt a twinge of jealousy that somehow Violet had known first.

After an uncomfortable silence, Mary spoke. "I know you're disappointed, Mama, but this changes nothing. Matthew and I _will_ marry, so you needn't worry about scandal." She knew her mama well.

Cora found her voice and said tremulously, "Mary, you're a grown woman, and there's nothing for me to say other than the wedding already was looked upon as being 'quick.' Now you're simply confirming why it needed to be so. I don't know what you were thinking."

Matthew stood and stared at Cora, his eyes blazing. "Now just a minute, Cora. We wanted to marry quickly because we saw no reason to delay. The date has nothing to do with Mary's pregnancy. I won't have you criticizing her. Were we reckless? I suppose so, but know this: I love Mary with all that is in me, and all the wagging tongues won't change that. She's carrying my child, we're thrilled, and so should you be!"

Violet opened her mouth to speak, but before she could do so, Isobel rose, walked to Mary, and took her hand. "Thank you for loving my son and for giving us this gift." She turned to Matthew and put her hands on his shoulders. "There's never been a moment when I wasn't proud of you. This news changes nothing." She kissed his cheek and turned to Cora. "A grandchild is a blessing, Cora. I suggest we sleep on this news and get on with the business of planning a wedding."

Watching Matthew carefully, Violet rose from her chair. "It's time I retired. Cora, Isobel, let's leave Mary and Matthew to themselves. We needn't worry about them now, surely. Good night, my dears."

Matthew put his arm around Mary's waist and called to the departing women in a steady voice that brooked no opposition, "One more thing before you go up. We've been discreet out of respect for all of you, and we'll continue to be, but I expect you to understand that Mary and I are lovers and will behave as such from now on. Good night, ladies."

Violet climbed the stairs slowly, a satisfied smile on her face. Matthew finally had come into his own as the Earl of Grantham.

* * *

 _ **I won't have access to my computer for the next two weeks, so it will be a while before I am able to post the next chapter. (Worse for me, I won't be able to read new postings from my favorite stories!) My apologies. I promise to continue "Pathways" as soon as possible. I appreciate your reviews and kind words so much!**_


	29. Chapter 29

By the time she finished hearing about the joys and horrors of pregnancy and childbirth, Mary found herself wishing she'd never gone to Isobel with questions. Because her mama had been so cold and distant since learning the news, Isobel seemed the logical choice to provide answers, but the older woman's clinical descriptions did little to answer the kinds of questions Mary had. She couldn't bring herself to tell Edith about the pregnancy until after the wedding, and somehow not being able to talk with Sybil face-to-face made her uncomfortable. As thrilled as she was about the pregnancy, Mary felt woefully unprepared, for she knew little about the changes her body would undergo. She recalled Isobel's final words: _Childbirth is the most natural process in the world, my dear. You won't remember the pain once that precious child is placed in your arms._ She hoped Isobel was right, but her trepidation wasn't alleviated completely. Although talking with Isobel did provide some solace, Mary longed to speak with a female confidante who had a bit more recent childbearing experience and who could answer the questions that made her blush, and it suddenly occurred to her she knew just the person to approach.

In the meantime, wedding preparations were complete for the most part—the banns had been posted, and the engagement announcement had been published—and Mary looked forward to returning to London with Matthew for her dress fitting and for the engagement party Stuart and Sarah were hosting. They were leaving in a week's time and would be in London for five days—five glorious days of time alone with Matthew. After his pronouncement about their being lovers, which she had found both thrilling and mortifying, he had come to her bed each night but made it a point to leave before sunrise each morning out of respect for the elder Crawley women's sensibilities. Mary relished sleeping in Matthew's arms but waking to his cold side of the bed in the morning left her feeling rather bereft. Getting back to Painswick House meant they would fall asleep and wake together, something she looked forward to with great eagerness, and judging from Matthew's whispered grumblings as he departed her bed before dawn each morning, he did, as well.

* * *

Anna Bates's hands fluttered among the tea cakes and porcelain as she prepared to serve her former mistress. Lady Mary's visit to Grantham Arms came as a pleasant surprise, for Anna had not seen her since she left for London all those years ago. From what she could tell, Lady Mary had not changed a bit. Of course, her hair was different—her stylish bob was quite becoming—and Anna noticed immediately that she seemed to have a glow about her and attributed it to her finally finding happiness with the love of her life. As long as she lived, Anna never would forget Lady Mary's heartbreaking sobs after she returned from the church the day Matthew married Miss Swire. She watched as Lady Mary moved through the Abbey like a spectre in the days that followed, only sharing her grief in the privacy of her bedroom. More than anyone else, Anna knew how much Lady Mary loved Matthew, and Anna felt her pain when Lady Mary turned her back on Downton and moved on with her life.

After she and Mr. Bates purchased the property, Matthew had visited Grantham Arms often through the years, and Anna suspected he was there to do more than check on their new enterprise. Although he seldom mentioned Lady Mary specifically, it appeared to Anna that he needed some kind of connection to her, which Anna seemed able to provide. When Matthew visited, he sat contentedly in the parlour, sometimes holding little Johnny on his lap, who regaled him with stories of his youthful misadventures, and Matthew would reminisce about the "old days" when he first arrived at Downton. The Bateses' and Matthew's acquaintance deepened after each visit, and even after he assumed the title, he demanded she and Bates refrain from calling him anything other than Matthew, insisting that their friendship superseded formality. Judging by his forlorn demeanor, Anna inferred that Matthew's marriage was not a happy one, so it came as no surprise when it ended. She was delighted when Daisy and Mrs. Hughes told her of his and Lady Mary's engagement, and she had meant to visit the Abbey in order to pay her respects; however, Grantham Arms had been particularly busy over the last months, and caring for Mr. Bates and little Johnny occupied the rest of her time.

Mary looked around at the well-appointed parlour and smiled. The fresh flowers, soft blue walls, and bright yellow accents gave the room a cheerful ambience. The furniture was plain but stylish. Mary was pleased to see her former maid had come into her own because her confidence and composure reflected a happy woman. "Anna, you and Mr. Bates have done a wonderful job with the inn. It's simply lovely. I understand you've been quite successful."

Anna blushed with pride, for she and John had worked hard to make it welcoming and comfortable. "Thank you, Lady Mary. We're very proud of it. And I must tell you how very happy Mr. Bates and I are for you and Matthew…er…his lordship." She looked down at her hands and shook her head. "I beg your pardon, milady." Anna was horrified by her near breach of propriety.

Mary reached out and took Anna's hand. "Thank you, Anna. And I know you call him 'Matthew,' just as you should call me 'Mary' now. After all we've been through together, it seems only right. No one outside my family has known me better or longer than you. Please. I insist."

"Very well, Mil…Mary, but I'll need some time to get used to it."

After managing to overcome her initial discomfort, Anna found herself chatting comfortably with Mary about the goings on in Downton since Mary's return. She expressed her sympathy about Robert's death and laughed with Mary about Cora's over-the-top wedding ideas. Matthew had told her about the improvements to the Abbey, and she and Mary both giggled like schoolgirls when Mary described Violet's insistence on adding a shower to her en suite bath in the Dower House after using the one in the Abbey. In the time it took them to finish two pots of tea and innumerable tea cakes and biscuits, the two women had renewed their acquaintance and forged a true friendship, and Mary worked up the courage to tell Anna about her pregnancy. Putting aside her initial shock, Anna was more than willing to share her own experiences, flattered that Mary had sought her counsel. She suggested that ginger tea and salted biscuits might help with morning sickness and recommended Mary keep some biscuits by her bedside to eat in the morning before rising. Although she believed an occasional glass of wine might not hurt, Anna suggested Mary avoid strong spirits and take plenty of exercise. Anna related stories of her own mood swings, as well, warning Mary not to be surprised if she were laughing one minute and sobbing the next. Mary admitted she already was familiar with that particular side effect. Anna also assured Mary that having intercourse while pregnant was perfectly safe and told her to look forward to an increased libido during her second trimester, which made both of the women laugh and blush mightily.

Before leaving, Mary spoke briefly with John Bates, who introduced her to his son. She knelt before the child and spoke softly to him. He was the image of his father but seemed to have inherited his mother's sweet demeanor. When she began to rise, Little Johnny threw himself into her arms, exclaiming, "You smell like a garden!" causing the three adults to laugh. Mary hugged Anna and thanked her for her help, promising to visit again soon. As Mary walked back to the Abbey, she was lost in thought. Seeing Anna again was just what she needed to feel confident about her pregnancy, and she resolved to foster the friendship with the gentle young woman who kept her secrets and kept her grounded.

* * *

As much as Mary and Matthew loved Downton, they looked forward to the trip to London, not only because they could be on their own but also for the entertainment the city afforded. Now that Matthew was seated in the House of Lords, they planned to take advantage of the opportunity to travel there often and enjoy a full social life. They knew eventually they would have to do something about the two houses they owned in London, but for now they would stay at Painswick House since it was fully staffed.

When the train pulled into Kings Cross Station, the first thing they noticed was the repair work still underway. The derailment nearly had destroyed the platform and some of the surrounding facades, so workmen still were on site. As Matthew extended his arm to help Mary from their compartment, he noticed her brief hesitation, and he remembered with a shiver the last time she was there. She grasped his arm as they walked toward the baggage area, and while they waited for the chauffeur to find their bags, Matthew said quietly, "If you don't mind, there's someone I'd like to speak with before we leave. Would you come with me?"

Mary looked at him curiously and replied, "Very well." She couldn't imagine to whom he might be referring.

They walked toward one of the ticket booths, and Matthew asked, "Is Jimmy Moore working today?"

"Yes, sir. He's in booth number four, I believe," replied the agent.

"Thank you." Matthew took Mary's arm and escorted her down the platform toward the booth, careful to direct her around some freshly-painted columns.

They stood before the booth, and a copper-haired young man looked up from some paperwork, smiled, and asked, "May I help you?"

"Are you Jimmy Moore?" Matthew asked.

"Yes, sir, I am," replied the youth, looking at him quizzically. Then he looked at the woman standing next to the inquisitive gentleman and gasped, "Oh, it's you!"

"I beg your pardon?" Mary didn't recognize the young man and was puzzled that he seemed to know her.

Matthew directed her closer to the window and said, "My darling, I'd like to introduce you to your rescuer. He was the one who carried you from the train that awful day. Lady Mary Crawley, this is Jimmy Moore. Jimmy, I'm Matthew Crawley. I've looked forward to meeting you for quite a while."

Jimmy's face turned several shades of red, and his eyes grew wide. "Golly, Mr. Crawley, this is a surprise. Lady Mary, it's my pleasure. I'm glad to see you're none the worse for wear."

"Thank you, Mr. Moore. I always wondered who it was that got me out of the compartment. It's lovely to meet you."

"Same here, ma'am. Could you wait a moment, please?" He pulled down the shade on the booth's window, hurried onto the platform, and stood before them. "If you don't mind my saying, Lady Mary, I swore I'd never forget your face, and I haven't in all this time."

Matthew reached out and shook Jimmy's hand warmly. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for what you did for Lady Mary. I'll always be grateful."

"You're welcome, Mr. Crawley. I'm glad I could help. I knew when I saw her that she had to be special to someone."

"You're right about that, Jimmy." He looked at Mary and smiled. "We'll let you get back to it. I just wanted to stop by and meet you and say 'thanks.'"

Matthew took Mary's arm and turned to walk away, but Mary stopped and went back to Jimmy. He blushed when she kissed his cheek and said, "Now I have two heroes in my life, Jimmy. Thank you."

Jimmy watched the couple walk away and went back to his ticket window, still feeling the warmth of her lips on his cheek.

* * *

Their first morning in London, Mary awoke to Matthew moving inside her slowly from behind. Neither of them spoke, nor did they need to. They moved together—his lips at her throat, his hands at her breasts, her arms around his head, her fingers in his hair. Her muscles clenched around him as he nipped at her jawline, and he used his fingers to push her over the edge, causing her to call out his name with a throaty cry. A few more thrusts and he was groaning his own release. He held her against him as they got their breathing under control. Then Mary turned in his arms and pressed her body into his, softly giggling into his neck.

"What's so funny, my love?"

She looked up at him and smoothed a lock of hair away from his forehead. "Your tie is still attached to one of your wrists, darling."

He raised his arm to look at the black silk tie, one of the sources of so much pleasure from the night before. "Hmmm. So it is." The expression in her eyes took all the breath from his lungs. _Last night was incredible._ He remembered her looming over him, exploring his helpless body—caressing, kissing, teasing, tormenting—until she finally took him inside her and rode him to a staggering release.

Matthew ran his hands gently up and down Mary's spine, relishing the softness and sending chills throughout her body. "God, Mary, I could live inside of you for the rest of my life. I love falling asleep with you and waking up with you. I want to hold you and shelter you and love you always. I love feeling your heartbeat as I hold you in my arms."

Just as he leaned into her, Mary paled, rose quickly from the bed, and stumbled toward the en suite bathroom. Momentarily stunned, Matthew jumped up to follow her and found her retching violently into the toilet. He grabbed a towel, wet it, and went to her immediately.

As she continued vomiting, he held the towel to her forehead and rubbed her back gently. Once she sat back on her heels and took the towel from him, he asked anxiously, "My God, Mary, are you all right?"

Shaking and chilled, Mary replied, "I'll be fine, Matthew. It's morning sickness, that's all."

"That's all?" he asked incredulously. "I can't believe that's all it is. Are you sure?"

"Yes, darling, I'm sure." Suddenly aware of her nakedness, she asked, "Would you bring me my dressing gown, please? I'm freezing."

Matthew walked quickly back into the bedroom and gathered both of their garments. When he reentered the bathroom, Mary still was sitting on the floor, her back against the wall and her knees brought to her chest. He helped her into her dressing gown and then put his on. He sat beside her and placed his arm across her shoulders. They were quiet for a while until finally she leaned into him and said sadly, "This is not exactly how I wanted us to spend our first morning together in London"

Matthew chuckled, "Me, either. I'm just sorry you have to go through this, my love. I wish there were something I could do."

Mary looked up at him and smiled wryly, "Ah, I believe you've already done plenty, Matthew."

* * *

The Gershwin musical _Oh, Kay!_ was in its final weeks at His Majesty's Theatre in West End, and Matthew and Mary looked forward to attending a performance, capped by a late supper at the Carlton Hotel afterward. Mary slipped into one of her favorite dresses—a deep burgundy sleeveless column dress with crystal embellishments on the neckline and dropped waist—while Matthew finished shaving in the en suite bath. Shirt in hand, he walked into the bedroom and stopped abruptly, gazing at her with darkened eyes.

"You look stunning in that color, Mary. Is that a new frock?"

"This old thing? As a matter of fact, it's from last year, but I've yet to wear it for you. So, you like it?" She smiled demurely and twirled as he approached her.

He cupped her face in one hand while the other moved to her waist. "It's splendid, but I think the wearer makes it so." He leaned in and began placing soft kisses to her neck as she moaned in response.

"Matthew, you'll make me untidy, and we'll be late." Before she realized it, his arms were moving to her bare back.

"Good," he mumbled as he continued his ministrations to the other side of her neck. "As good as the show is supposed to be, I'd much rather watch you perform than watch Gertrude Lawrence."

She pulled away laughing and faced the mirror to smooth her hair. "Speaking of which, don't be surprised if we see the Prince of Wales there tonight. Rumor has it he's quite enamoured of her and has attended several performances."

He donned his shirt and inserted his cufflinks. "Humph. He's enamoured of anyone in a skirt."

"Matthew!"

"Well, it's true. And don't think I'm not aware that he seems to enjoy _your_ company."

"Don't be silly. He's attended a few of my parties over the years, but he's never been anything other than 'princely' to me." She paused and turned to look at him. "Wait. How do you know that?"

"Hah! I have my sources." He grinned slyly as he straightened his tie.

"Spies, more like. And here I thought you were pining away in seclusion at Downton all that time." She fastened a jeweled hairclip above her ear and slipped a long, channel-set diamond necklace over her head.

"My darling, I was in absolute misery thinking of you traipsing around London, a new beau on your arm each season."

"Matthew, I never have 'traipsed,' and if truth be told, I was in absolute misery, too."

He took her in his arms, stared deeply into her eyes, and said in a low voice rasping with emotion, "Then it's a good thing we found each other again."

She took his face in her hands, saying before she kissed him, "Yes, my darling, it is."

* * *

Matthew and Mary thought Act One of _Oh, Kay!_ was delightful, the farcical story and modern songs putting smiles on their faces as they left their box and headed for refreshments at intermission. As Matthew made his way to the champagne bar, Mary excused herself and went to the ladies' lounge. As she sat at the vanity mirror and repaired her lipstick, she smiled and hummed softly "Maybe," one of her favorite songs from the first act. Suddenly, she became aware that someone was staring at her reflection.

"Mary?"

She turned and greeted the woman, "Mabel, how nice to see you again."

"I thought it was you. It's been a while."

"It has. How have you been?"

"Fine, I suppose. I'm sure you heard Tony and I divorced."

"Yes. I'm so sorry. I was surprised to hear it."

"I don't understand why you would say _that_." She looked at Mary contemptuously. "You know, of course, I wasn't his first love. Speaking of which, I understand you and Matthew are to be married soon. That's rather sudden, isn't it?"

Mary straightened in her seat. "I beg your pardon?"

Mabel smirked, "Oh, it's just that he didn't waste any time after his divorce to propose to you. You know how people talk."

"Yes, evidently _some_ people talk more than others."

"Well, good luck, Mary. With his track record—you know, one failed marriage and all—I'm fairly certain you'll need it." Before Mary could respond to her barb, Mabel exclaimed, "Oh, I really must be going. Charles is waiting. Lovely to see you again, Mary. Do stay in touch."

Mabel turned on her heel and swished out of the lounge, leaving a stunned Mary in her wake. _Matthew's track record? Is that what everyone is saying?_ It's not as if she had a single doubt about Matthew's love; on the contrary, it was the one constant in her life she knew she could count on. Still, for Mabel to speak so hatefully… _and she mentioned the suddenness of their engagement._ Long ago Mary had decided not to give a fig about what people thought of her—goodness knows she'd been forced to deal with society casting aspersions on her character—but Mabel's words were not directed just at her. Her Matthew was good and true and honest. The idea that others might assume he was less than honorable was more than she could bear. Angry tears sprang to her eyes in spite of her best efforts to quell them, and she sat silently at the vanity until she could get herself under control, finally rising to go to Matthew who, she felt sure, was wondering where she was.

Mary managed to enjoy the musical's second act until the character Kay sang "Someone to Watch over Me" to a ragdoll she clutched against her chest. Something about the lyrics and the mournful tune—

 _There's a somebody I'm longin' to see_

 _I hope that he, turns out to be_

 _Someone who'll watch over me_

—caused Mary to sit and weep silently in the darkened theatre, the melody washing over her and filling her with sadness for the character and for her own spoiled evening.

* * *

Matthew was concerned. Mary was unusually quiet at dinner, and during the musical's second act she seemed different from how she was during Act One. Although she assured him she felt fine, he was convinced she wasn't herself and was determined to get to the bottom of what was bothering her. When they arrived at Painswick House, he led her into the sitting room under the guise of wanting a nightcap. He sat on the loveseat and pulled her into his lap.

"Now, Mary, tell me what's bothering you. I know it's something."

"Really, Matthew, I…"

"Mary, I know you. Something's wrong. Please talk to me."

Mary sighed and played with the ring on her finger. "It's really nothing. I'm just being silly and emotional." Matthew cocked his head, leaned forward, and raised his eyebrows. "Very well. I saw Mabel Foyle in the ladies' lounge; you know, she used to be married to Tony…er…Viscount Gillingham?" Matthew nodded. "Anyway, she was in the ladies' lounge and said some things that weren't particularly friendly, that's all."

"What kinds of things did she say to upset you?"

"Oh, things such as…how quickly we were marrying…and…and that you had a track record of failure. I was so stunned that I didn't know what to say."

"Mary, my darling, you know how people talk. Consider the source, please. Everyone knows Mabel has a chip on her shoulder about the failure of her own marriage, so naturally she'd try to make you feel bad about ours. As for my 'track record,' it's true." Mary looked at him, and he took her hand in his. "My marriage failed. Everyone knows that, but everyone also knows the reason for that failure. I married the wrong woman the first time, Mary." He put a knuckle under her chin. "Look at me, Mary. This time, I'm marrying the right one."

* * *

Mary was exhausted from the emotions of the evening, so she told Matthew she was going to soak in a bath before they retired. When they entered the bedroom, Matthew told her to undress and to rest for a minute while he prepared the tub for her. She wanted to argue with him that she was perfectly capable of drawing a bath, but he insisted, so she did as he asked. She slipped out of her dress and underclothes, donned her silk dressing gown, and sat patiently on the edge of the chaise. She ran her hand over her belly absent-mindedly as she waited for Matthew to reappear. She was tired, so very tired, and wondered how much it had to do with her pregnancy and how much it had to do with that evening's events. She heard the running water stop and stood, waiting for Matthew to call her into the en suite.

"Mary, it's ready."

She turned when he spoke and was surprised to see him standing in the doorway dressed only in his undershorts.

"Are you joining me?"

"No."

"Then why…"

"No more questions, love. Come on, you don't want the water to get cold."

She walked toward Matthew, a slight smile on her lips, and he took her hand and escorted her to the tub. Steam rose and the scent of Arpège bath oil filled the air. She noticed he had lit some tapers—where he had procured them, she had no idea—so that when he shut the overhead light, the room was bathed in a soft, amber glow. He helped her off with her dressing gown and said, "Step in," as he took her hand to ensure she entered the tub safely. She sank into the water, rested her arms on the tub's sides, and relaxed her limbs while Matthew folded a towel and placed it behind her head. She reached for the soap and a large bathing sponge, but Matthew took them from her hands and said, "No, let me."

The scented bathwater was heavenly, soothing, wonderful, and Mary felt the tension she'd been feeling all evening gradually disappear. Matthew knelt beside the tub, soaped the sponge, and slowly began washing her body, starting with her feet. His hand followed the sponge as he ran it up her legs moving between them, massaging her feet, her calves, her knees, her thighs—the silk of her skin matched by the silkiness of the water. Mary closed her eyes at the sensuousness of the experience, and Matthew watched her lips part as an almost imperceptible breath left her lips that he knew hinted at her arousal. He smiled. The water dripped from the sponge as he skipped her torso for the moment and laved each of her arms. He then moved behind her. "Lean forward, my love." He began washing her back, dropping the sponge momentarily to massage her shoulders and neck. Gently he laid her back against the tub, picked up the sponge, and proceeded to wash her torso, rubbing and caressing her breasts and paying particular attention to her belly as she again exhaled softly. Leaning in toward her, he ran his tongue around the shell of her ear and then kissed her, his lips soft against hers.

He helped her to stand, lathered a washcloth, and began to wash her most intimate parts delicately, meticulously, caringly. He never looked into her eyes, instead paying close attention to what he was doing as she watched him languidly, noting how the water on his skin reflected the candlelight and accentuated the movement of his muscles. _He is such a beautiful man._ He took his time—bathing her, rinsing her—finally looking into her eyes. His were full of gentle concern; hers were full of loving appreciation. They stood just looking at each other, both saying nothing yet everything with their eyes.

He reached his hand out to her and helped her out of the tub. He began drying her skin with a bath towel, paying close attention to his task while she stood unmoving, her hand occasionally brushing his skin, allowing him to manipulate her as he wished as he dried…

her arms, hands, and fingers

her breasts, stomach, and back

her legs and feet

her intimate places

He leaned over and kissed her belly gently, then wrapped her in her dressing gown and led her back into the bedroom. Pulling back the covers, he directed her to stretch out on the bed and wait for him. He brought two lit tapers from the bath into the room, and said in a low voice, "Relax, my darling." He darkened the room, leaving only the two tapers as the source of light, and he opened her dressing gown and removed it by sliding it out from under her. He poured lotion into his hands and began rubbing it into her neck and chest, his gentle hands floating over her body as she closed her eyes and relinquished herself to his touch. Even when he reached her breasts his touch was careful and gentle, rather than carnal. He continued his ministrations to the rest of her body, rubbing in the lotion, massaging her muscles, stroking her silken skin. When he had finished with the front of her body, he whispered tenderly, "Turn over, Mary." She lay on her stomach, and he directed his attention to her back, spreading the lotion gently from the base of her neck to her feet, stopping occasionally to massage away the tension he found in her back.

When he was finished, he had her turn over onto her back once again and pulled the covers over her. He sat beside her, pushing the hair from her face. Finally finding her voice, she said softly, "Thank you. Now come to bed."

He extinguished the tapers, slid in beside her, and their bodies shifted toward each other. As he held his beloved Mary sleeping peacefully in his arms, he knew he would never get enough of loving her.


	30. Chapter 30

Matthew took his seat with the Constitution Committee and looked around at the other members. All of the men looked as if sitting in the House of Lords were a natural part of their existence. They seemed to have an easy camaraderie, and the whole atmosphere was much more relaxed than Matthew had imagined it would be. It seemed to him they took their positions for granted—something he didn't think he ever would be able to do, for he grew up believing the House of Lords was a hallowed place, its history engrained in his mind thanks to his studies through the years. The members' welcome to him was friendly enough, he supposed, and he wondered how many of them came to their titles in as convoluted a way as he. After all, he was a physician's son from Manchester—upper middle class at best—and had taken over the title only because a thinning bloodline connected him to it. Still, he took his role seriously, and he resolved to do his best to uphold the responsibility he felt.

As the committee grilled the Minister for Constitutional Reform, Matthew took copious notes, pausing occasionally to ask a question. Eyebrows were raised when he did so because normally new members tended to be silent in their early days as they learned the procedures and protocols that had been in place for centuries. Matthew, however, proved to be a quick study, and when he asked the Minister about his plans for coordinating constitutional reform arrangements, the members realized he considered his position to be more than ornamental. His intelligence and dignity were obvious, and the leadership had no doubt that he would be a formidable figure one day.

During a break in the questioning, Matthew sat back in his chair and allowed his mind to roam a bit, and naturally, his thoughts turned to Mary. Coco was to arrive that day, bringing with her Mary's wedding gown and trousseau. He knew Mary was apprehensive about the fit of the gown since her body surely would be showing signs of her pregnancy soon. _Pregnancy. Their child._ Every time he thought about her, he would shake his head in wonder. _She was his. Irrevocably. And he belonged to her, body and soul._ Thinking about lost time was painful, so he resolved only to look forward to the many years ahead of them. Regret served no purpose now that they were together, and he relished every moment with her. Since their return to London, they'd been insatiable—finding every opportunity to be together. The previous evening had begun innocently enough…

 _They sat in the drawing room after dinner, Mary on the sofa and Matthew in a chair next to the gramophone to facilitate record changing. Stuart had sent over abstracts covering new investments he was investigating, so Mary and Matthew each were perusing the documents with the intention of discussing them when both were finished reading. The subject matter was dry, and the duo found themselves spending more time eyeing each other rather than concentrating on the reading matter. A record came to an end, and Matthew stood to replace it with another. He removed the disc from the sleeve, placed it on the turntable, lowered the needle, and the silent air soon was rent with yet another tune:_

 _Gone is the romance that was so divine.  
'tis broken and cannot be mended.  
You must go your way,  
And I must go mine.  
But now that our love dreams have ended..._

 _What'll I do  
When you are far away  
And I am blue  
What'll I do?_

 _What'll I do?  
When I am wond'ring who  
Is kissing you  
What'll I do?_

 _What'll I do with just a photograph  
To tell my troubles to?_

 _When I'm alone  
With only dreams of you  
That won't come true  
What'll I do?_

 _When he sat down again, he looked at Mary and noticed she was looking pensively at his ring on her finger._

" _Mary?"_

 _No answer._

 _Matthew leaned forward in his chair. "My darling, what is it?"_

 _After a moment she finally looked at him, tears in her eyes. "The song," she said quietly. "I first heard it about four years ago. It's Berlin, I think. I used to listen to it all the time. Somehow it seemed a perfect reflection of how I was feeling at the time. Hearing it again just brings back memories, that's all."_

 _Matthew listened carefully to the lyrics and realized they could have applied to him as well. He was not familiar with the song—no surprise really since Lavinia didn't care to listen to popular music, and at the Abbey Robert had been easily irritated by what he called a gramophone's "extraneous noise" and rarely allowed it to be played in his presence._

" _I found the photograph, you know," he said softly._

 _Mary was puzzled. "What photograph?"_

" _One of me taken before the war. You evidently had put it in a drawer of your dressing table before…before you left the Abbey. I'm embarrassed to admit I found it when I snooped a bit after I moved into the house."_

 _Mary smiled in remembrance. "Isobel gave it to me before Sybil's season. I kept it under my pillow for quite some time, even during the war. Edith caught me praying for you one night and almost caught me with it."_

" _You prayed for me?" he asked gently._

" _Yes, but once you were home safely…and with Lavinia…I put the picture away and stopped."_

" _Oh, Mary."_

" _It's all right, Matthew. What did you do with the picture? It isn't in my drawer."_

" _I'm afraid it ended up in the fireplace late one night."_

" _Well, I'll ask Isobel if she has another copy. I suppose we're living proof that sometimes prayers are answered, albeit belatedly."_

 _Later that evening in the sanctuary of their bed, he remained inside her—relishing her warmth, clinging to her body, holding her beneath him, feeling their hearts pounding rhythmically. The intensity of their lovemaking had winded them both. He felt as if he could hold her that way forever, for he knew his prayers certainly were answered. They were a tangled mass of twisted limbs completely wrapped in sated bliss. As her fingers played over the smoothness of his back, Matthew moved his face between her breasts and inhaled her scent. He planted kisses on her chest, and when he looked up, the brown pools of her eyes shimmered for a soft moment. It elated him to please her. Her smile caught his breath, and he found himself aroused once again. He wrapped his fingers firmly around hers, held her hands over her head, and watched as she closed her eyes and begin to writhe as he stroked in and out of her languidly. She was so beautiful, but he thought her positively ethereal when aroused. It suddenly occurred to him he wouldn't know what he would do if her lost her, and he kissed her hard, his tongue probing and his arousal almost painful in its intensity. Mary still could taste herself in his mouth as their kiss deepened and nearly was overcome with desire. He was everything to her. He brought one of her legs over his shoulder and swiveled his hips, pushing himself deeper, deeper into her. Her voice was unrecognizable, her words incoherent; he was lost in sensation, and the world slipped away..._

Matthew shook himself out of his reverie and adjusted his trousers as the Constitution Committee meeting was called to order once again. He would be going home to Mary soon.

* * *

When Coco and her entourage arrived at Painswick House, they immediately took over Mary's bedroom with gusto, much to Mary's amusement and Stephens's alarm. They set up a screen for Mary's privacy and proceeded to unpack garments and lingerie prepared for her trousseau. The last garment removed from a long, zippered bag was Mary's gown, a silk and lace confection to be sure. Mary was enchanted before she even tried it on and said to Coco, "C'est glorieux, Coco. Je n'ai jamais vu une plus belle robe de mariage." _It's glorious, Coco. I've never seen a more beautiful wedding gown._

Coco snapped her fingers at her assistants and barked, "Vite! Vite!" and they rushed Mary behind the screen and helped her out of her clothing and into the gown. Mary came from behind the screen, and Coco stepped back and regarded her critically, pointing to areas of the gown that needed slight adjustments. The silk organza was buttery soft, and the bias cut allowed the garment to flow gracefully over Mary's lithe body. Mary hoped that the gown's delicate tiers of transparent lace would hide her pregnancy, for it would be a little over a month before she had occasion to wear it. Before Coco allowed Mary to turn to the full-length mirror, she instructed one of her assistants to open a large box that had been placed on the bed. From it was pulled yards and yards of whisper-soft silk tulle that created Mary's veil. The edges were trimmed in the same lace as the overlay, and Mary pointed to her dressing table on which sat the Grantham tiara, worn by generations of Countesses. Once she had donned the complete ensemble, Coco placed her hands on Mary's shoulders and turned her gently to face the mirror. The room was silent as Mary stood transfixed. "La perfection," whispered Coco, her face smug with satisfaction.

* * *

As Mary and Matthew arrived at Stuart and Sarah's home for the engagement party, Mary was apprehensive. She hoped there would not be another confrontation like the one she had had with Mabel at the theatre. She knew the guests were aware of Matthew's marriage to Lavinia, so dealing with whispers and snide comments was the last thing she wanted. Thankfully, Mabel would not be there, but Sarah had invited Tony since he and Stuart were friends, and she was aware Mary and he knew each other socially. The guest list was long and distinguished, and facing London's social elite so soon after the debacle at the theatre led to Mary's steeling herself as they walked into the house. Much to her surprise—and pleasure—a cheer went up as they entered, and she and Matthew were surrounded by well-wishers, all clamoring to shake Matthew's hand and to kiss her cheek.

The food and libations were plentiful, and the music provided an air of gaiety, which added to the evening's pleasantness. Mary and Matthew moved among the crowd of people, laughing and accepting heartfelt best wishes. Tony Gillingham watched them quietly from a doorway, his eyes narrowed and his face grim. Five years earlier, Mary and he had renewed their childhood acquaintance at a soirée, and he immediately was smitten and chased after her for months, much to Mary's dismay. He had read the story about her lost virtue and was surprised at his inability to lure her into his bed since he fancied himself a ladies' man. Mary made it clear she was not interested in his advances, finding his attention cloying and, finally, irritating. He, however, was tantalized, intrigued by her haunting beauty and elegance. He persisted but finally acquiesced to her wishes and moved on to marry Mabel Lane Fox, considered to be one of the "catches" of her season, but his resentment of Mary's rejection gnawed at him. His marriage didn't last long because Mabel was no Mary, and Tony continued to chase and bed women with unconscionable regularity. Now he was on the loose again, never having forgotten the feeling being with Mary evoked, and _she was on the verge of marrying someone who stumbled into a title and into her heart._

Taking another glass of champagne from a server's tray, Tony watched as Mary excused herself from a group of friends and left the room with Sarah to visit the powder room. He had enough liquid courage to hover in the hallway, and as Mary and Sarah emerged from the powder room, Mary stopped to speak to him, and Sarah continued on to her hostess duties.

Tony was leaning against the wall, his champagne glass dangling precariously from his fingers.

"Hello there, Mary."

"Hello, Tony. How have you been?"

He leaned toward her unsteadily and leered. "How have I been? How kind of you to enquire, _Milady_. As a matter of fact, I've been swell. I'd be even better if you'd give me a taste of what you've been giving to Crawley."

Mary was taken aback. "You're obviously drunk, Tony." Mary tried to walk past him, but he slammed his arm into the wall, blocking her path. "Tony, let me by," she said tightly.

"Aw, c'mon, Mary. How about we go somewhere quiet and talk about old times? You know you never really gave us a chance…" He ran a hand up and down her arm, causing her to jerk away from him.

"There never was an 'us,' Tony. We were friends, nothing more. Now, let me pass!"

He grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. "You always were a cold one, Mary. Tell me, does the esteemed Earl warm you up the same way the Turk did and I never could?"

"Let her go, Gillingham."

Tony felt a firm grip on his shoulder and turned to find a stony-faced Matthew glaring at him. Mary pulled away and watched as Matthew grabbed Tony by the scruff of his neck and pulled one of his arms behind his back, causing Tony to drop the glass which shattered on the floor. "I'll give your regrets to Sir Stuart and Lady Sarah," Matthew said quietly between clenched teeth. "Now get the hell out of here." He pushed Tony roughly toward the entryway to the salon and sent him flying into the room. Red-faced and reeling, a disheveled Tony made his way out of the house, leaving behind guests who wondered what had facilitated his quick departure but who were not curious enough to ask.

Matthew led Mary back down the hallway and pulled her into a small chamber that appeared to be seldom used, for it contained a mishmash of furniture and decorative items lined up against built-in bookcases littered with bric-a-bracs and worn books. He shut the door and latched it. "Are you all right? Did that son of a bitch hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine, Matthew. He'd just had too much to drink, and…" Before she could finish her response, Matthew took her face in his hands and walked her backwards against a bookcase, knocking over a plant stand, kissing her hungrily as they moved. After he broke the kiss, she barely had a moment to catch her breath before he was kissing her again, his mouth insistent and his hands moving to grasp her breasts.

"Matthew," she moaned, "we can't…"

"Oh, yes, we can," he replied heatedly, and he pressed his body against hers, the evidence of his arousal pushing against her belly. He snaked his hands under her sheath and yanked the fabric up her body and over her head, his mouth following the trail his hands made, as she cried out and her breathing became ragged. The intensity of his gaze burned into her eyes as he snarled, "He wanted you, but you're mine. _Mine_. Say it, Mary. I want to hear you."

"Yes…God, yes…I'm yours, Matthew," she gasped as his hands tore apart her French knickers, pulling the tattered garment from her body. His hand found her center, and she groaned as his fingers scissored into the warmth of her core. As his fingers probed her center, his other hand lifted her chemise, and his mouth latched on to one breast, his teeth and tongue pulling and laving its nipple, while his free hand kneaded her other breast. Mary's knees weakened, and she grasped his shoulders to keep from falling into a heap on the floor. When Matthew was aggressive like this, she always felt wanton and reckless, and making love while her friends and acquaintances were nearby sent a licentious thrill through her body. She was panting with desire as her hands moved to Matthew's waist and undid his trousers, pushing them down. She grasped his ass to pull him closer. As they thrashed together, the shelves behind them rattled, and a vase and several knickknacks and books tumbled to the floor. No matter. They were oblivious to everything except

 _the heat_

 _the wetness_

 _the throbbing_

 _the need_

Matthew lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he entered her. The force of his thrust sent her shoulders into a shelf, and it crashed down, taking with it frames and figurines that landed in pieces at Matthew's feet. The tension in both their bodies was at the breaking point—Matthew's grunts and Mary's responding cries filled the air as they held on to each other desperately. He continued his onslaught—pounding into her, claiming her as his own, trying desperately to quench his desire. "Tell me you want me," he demanded as she met him thrust for thrust. "Tell me."

"I want you…God, I need you…Please," she implored. Her walls clamped and rippled around him as she moaned his name. They erupted in concert, both shuddering, their mutual releases hurtling them toward a kind of satiated haze.

They continued to embrace until Mary released her legs from around Matthew's waist, and they both groaned as he pulled out of her. He plied her face and neck with kisses as she relaxed in his arms, and they both began to laugh softly.

"What on Earth was that?" she asked between gasps for air.

"Amazing. That's what that was," he whispered. "But I'm sorry for being so rough. When I saw that drunken bastard's hands on you, something in me snapped."

"Don't apologize, darling. I quite like you as a beast." She kissed him gently and ran her fingers through his hair as he gave her a lopsided grin. "Now, if you'll give me your handkerchief, I'll try to make repairs while you sort out the mess we made."

Matthew looked about the room. Shards from the shattered vase and broken bric-a-bracs were strewn on the floor, the plant stand lay on its side, one of its legs splayed sideways from the force of its fall, and the shelf from the bookcase was leaning on end against the sofa. Matthew made quick work of the mess, using an old magazine as a scoop and depositing the evidence into a nearby umbrella stand. "What?" he asked as he replaced the shelf, noting Mary's raised eyebrow. "I couldn't just pile it into a corner. I'm afraid this is a lost cause, though," he said pointing to the crippled plant stand, which he finally propped against an antique table.

Mary donned her dress and handed her tattered knickers to Matthew. "Here. Put these in your pocket, and I'll throw them away when we get home."

"Not on your life," laughed Matthew, stuffing them into his inside jacket pocket. "They'll serve as a nice distraction when I'm sitting in a boring session at Lords."

"Matthew! You can't mean it!"

"It's not as if I'll pull them out of my pocket and wave them about, Mary," he retorted, rolling his eyes. "But I'm keeping them."

Matthew opened the door and peered into the hallway. "The coast is clear," he said, and they walked arm-in-arm into the hallway and back to the party.

* * *

Returning to Downton was bittersweet for both Mary and Matthew. They loved their time together in London, unencumbered by the elder Crawley women's prying looks and cleared throats, but they also were anxious to get on with the business of running the estate. Stuart had sent with them scads of documents—invoices, statements, abstracts—that needed their review and approval, and they needed access to the records kept at the Abbey for final decision-making. The renovations to Crawley House and the Dower House almost were complete (although Cora made it quite clear she would not relocate to Crawley House until after the wedding, much to their chagrin), and Matthew was eager to see what progress had been made on the structures during the five days he and Mary had been gone.

They spent their last evening in London at the newly-reopened Kit Kat Club, which had undergone a transition from private club to high-class dance restaurant thanks to its being closed down and its owners fined for serving liquor to non-members earlier in the year. Although it had been open only since early October, already it was attracting princes, cabinet ministers, dukes and peers, and Mary and Matthew enjoyed socializing with some of the same people who had been present at their engagement party earlier in the week. They danced late into the evening and returned to Painswick House happily tipsy and slept entwined after three rounds of rather vigorous lovemaking, only to have to rise early the next morning to catch the train to Downton.

The trip home was uneventful, and Matthew began to doze despite his best efforts to stay awake as Mary sat amused while watching his head loll back and forth. Truth be told, she loved watching him sleep, for his face at rest was positively angelic. She remembered telling him that once, only to have him inform her in no uncertain terms that "angelic" was not a term that should be applied to a grown man. Nevertheless, to her he absolutely _was_ angelic, whether asleep or awake. Often when watching him sleep, she almost had to pinch herself to believe her happiness was real. Having Matthew—knowing he loved and wanted her—was the stuff of her dreams. Her hand went to her belly, and she closed her eyes. It still was a thrill remembering the joy in Matthew's face when she told him of her pregnancy, and imagining him holding their child brought her such joy she wondered if she would be able to bear the real thing without weeping. The train hit a jog in the track, waking Matthew. He stretched, caught her gaze, and smiled.

 _Yes_ , she thought, _angelic, indeed._

* * *

Upon their arrival at the Abbey, Mary and Matthew were greeted by Carson who somberly informed them that Cora, Isobel, and Violet were awaiting them in the library. Mary went upstairs to change out of her traveling clothes, while Matthew went into the library to greet the waiting women. He found himself rather red-faced when he realized there wasn't much to tell them about the London visit, given that he spent much of his time wrapped in Mary's arms. His discomfort was short-lived, however, when a refreshed Mary entered the library and entertained the women with stories about Coco and her dress fitting and shared some gossip she had learned from some of the guests at the engagement party.

"We had an interesting visitor while you were gone," said Violet cryptically.

"Mama!" exclaimed Cora. "There's no reason to make it sound so mysterious."

"Really, Cora? A lawyer comes here with a letter addressed to Mary from a dead man, and you say it isn't 'mysterious'?"

"What?" asked Mary. "Where's the letter?"

"Here." Cora reached into her skirt pocket and handed Mary a sealed envelope.

She sat next to Matthew and opened it.

It was from Geoff.


	31. Chapter 31

Mary stood, the opened envelope grasped in her hand, and said, "Please excuse me." Matthew jumped up to follow her, but she raised her hand to stop him. She walked from the library into the study, sat stiffly on the settee, and stared at the distinguished handwriting that adorned the front of the envelope. He'd written "Lady Mary Crawley" across the front, nothing more. She couldn't imagine what Geoff might have to say to her in the hours before his suicide.

 _Why would he write to me at all?_

* * *

Matthew watched her walk out of the library and ran his hands through his hair. Isobel took him by the arm and led him to one of the wing chairs. "You need to let her do this on her own terms, Matthew. I feel sure she'll share the letter's contents with you when she's ready."

Matthew nodded and slumped in the chair. "Perhaps. I hope so." He looked at the concerned threesome. "What did the solicitor say?"

"Only that the Duke left instructions that the letter was not to be delivered until, as he stated, 'Mary has given the Earl of Grantham a chance.' Evidently, the solicitor saw the announcement of your engagement in the papers. What could he possibly have meant?" asked Cora.

"I'm sure I don't know," replied Matthew grimly. "She told me she and the Duke had a long talk before she returned to London from her visit to Hanford Hall. He told her about his family's medical history, but I don't recall her saying they talked about her and me."

"How odd," mused Violet. "Obviously, that solicitor has been holding on to that letter since, what, August? He could have delivered it long before now. The Duke would have been none the wiser."

Isobel rolled her eyes. "Cousin Violet, last requests normally are honored. You'd do well to remember that if you have any of your own. Besides, it's not up to us to second guess the Duke's motives. I dare say he had a reason. Perhaps it will be revealed in the letter itself."

"I still say it's odd," said Violet. "It's as if he's speaking from the grave."

Matthew stared out the window at the barren landscape, hoping the letter would not cast a pall on what had been the happiest time of his and Mary's lives.

* * *

After staring down at her hands for several minutes, Mary took a deep breath, took the letter out of the envelope, and noticed how different the handwriting was from letters she had received from him in the past. The penmanship was frenetic, scratched, hurried, and she supposed it reflected Geoff's state of mind. She began to read—

 _ **My darling Mary—**_

 _ **You're reading this letter because I left instructions to deliver it to you if and when your marriage to the Earl was imminent. Remember that I told you to give him a chance? Because you have—and as much as it pains me to say it—I wish you great happiness.**_

 _ **The script of my life was written long before I met you. How I wish things were different. My life is headed down a dark, one-way road, and I'm ashamed to admit I don't have the courage to face what's coming—**_

"Oh, Geoff," sighed Mary. She remembered the anguish on his face as he told her about the illness that had ripped through his family. _How despondent he must have been,_ she thought to herself.

 _ **I thought for a brief moment you might be able to deliver me from the inevitable, but that was a pipe dream. It's better for me to end my life now before I hurt someone else the way I almost hurt you today. Prolonging my life serves no purpose—**_

 _ **Mary, from the moment I first saw you, I was entranced—not just with your beauty, but also with your spirit, your elegance, your passion. That you forgave me for injuring you reflects the kind of woman you are. Please know I never would have laid a hand on you if I had been in my right mind.**_

 _ **The constraints of the Dukedom's entail prevent me from making the kind of bequest to you I'd like, but it is within my power to give you Babylon. My last thoughts will be of you riding him across the countryside—your hair flying and your face aglow. I know you admired his power and strength—he is a magnificent animal—and I know, also, his spirit never will be quashed as long as he is in your capable hands. This bequest is absolute, dear Mary. There is no means for you to refuse it. Take him as one last favor to me.**_

Mary's hand flew to cover her mouth. "Oh, my God," she whispered. "Geoff, Geoff, you shouldn't have."

 _ **My solicitor has instructions to have Babylon delivered to you immediately after he conveys this letter.**_

 _ **One last thing you should know: I love you, Mary—as ludicrous as that might seem, it's true. I also desired you more than I've ever desired any other woman. I wanted to say that to you today and regret now that I didn't.**_

 _ **The Earl is a lucky man. You deserve to be treasured, my love.**_

 _ **Geoff**_

Mary sat silently, wiping away tears as quickly as they flowed down her cheeks. To know that Geoff thought of her in his last moments almost was unbearable. Somehow, she felt guilty for not loving him, but she knew her destiny led elsewhere. But she also felt guilty that Geoff had gone to his grave with his love for her unreciprocated. She needed Matthew now, so very much, but how would he react to the letter? She hoped he would understand that she did little to encourage Geoff; surely Matthew knew her love for him was absolute? And Babylon! She remembered his power and beauty. Arabian horses had such spirit and intelligence. Geoff's gifting him to her was too much, yet he said there was no means for her to refuse. She re-folded the letter and held it in her lap. She stared sadly out the window, her mind numb.

There was a faint knock at the door, and before she could respond, Matthew walked into the room.

"Are you all right, my darling?"

"Yes. Come in, please, Matthew."

He sat beside her on the sofa and waited for her to speak.

"Would you like to read this?" Mary held up the letter.

"Only if you want me to," he replied.

"I'd like you to. There's nothing in it you shouldn't know."

Matthew took the letter from her, unfolded it, and began to read. Mary watched as he reacted to the words on the page. His eyebrows alternately rose and furrowed as he progressed down the page. She could not discern his state of mind, hoping only he would be willing to talk once he finished.

"He loved you," Matthew said in a monotone. He was unable to meet her eyes.

"Yes. At least he said so." Mary watched as the muscles of Matthew's jaw tightened.

"Did you love him?"

"Matthew, you _know_ I didn't."

He stiffened and stared into her eyes. "Do I?"

"What are you saying? How can you possibly question my feelings? Look at me! You _know_ I've loved only you."

"I realize it's ridiculous to be angered by the words of a dead man, Mary, but I am." He was unable to hide the pain in his eyes. "Violet pointed out to me once that Geoff was a formidable opponent for your affections—I saw it for myself—and I suppose this letter just brings it all back."

"Oh, Matthew." This was a side of him she hadn't seen since before the war. She realized he still had the letter in his hand.

He stood and walked to the window. Mary sat and watched as he appeared to be gathering himself to speak. He turned, crumpled the letter into a ball, and said in a voice filled with determination, "You cannot accept that horse."

" _What_? You're joking. You read what he said."

"I don't care, Mary. I won't have it on the estate."

" _You_ won't have it? What about _me_? What if _I_ want him? He's a magnificent animal, Matthew, and there's no reason for you to be so unreasonable about this. You're letting your jealousy override your good sense."

" _My jealousy?_ "

"Yes! Your jealousy of a man who meant little or nothing to me, who, if anything, led me straight to you." She jumped to her feet and strode over to him, her voice shaking with anger. "I didn't encourage him, Matthew, and I had no control over his feelings for me. You _know_ this. You were with me when I got the news of his suicide. You couldn't have been more supportive. What's changed?"

Matthew held up the crumpled letter grasped in his fist. "This, _this_ has changed everything! I know the intensity of his passion for you because I feel the same way every time I look at you. Maybe I _am_ jealous because I don't know where we'd be if that bastard had lived. And having the evidence of his love for you on this estate is more than I'm willing to bear."

Mary straightened her shoulders and walked to the door. She turned to face him, her eyes fiery. "Well, you'll have to bear it because Babylon is mine now, and I won't give him up." With that, she walked out of the room leaving Matthew in stunned silence, her words ringing in his ears.

* * *

As Violet, Cora, and Isobel were walking out of the library to go upstairs to change for tea, they were stopped in their tracks by two figures emerging from the study and who quickly headed in opposite directions. Neither noticed the trio because each one seemed to be consumed by a focused determination to reach his or her destination. Mary's quick steps up the staircase were interrupted briefly by a momentary stumble that caused each of the women to gasp. Mary quickly righted herself and continued on until she reached the top of the stairs and disappeared. Matthew, on the other hand, jerked open the large front door not bothering to close it behind him and jumped into his AC, which was parked on the gravel at the front of the house. He sped off, sending the small stones flying and the women's eyebrows arching.

"Lovers' quarrel," stated Violet knowingly. "It was only a matter of time."

"Do you suppose it's because of the letter?" mused Isobel.

"You amaze me," snapped Violet. "Of course, it is. There's no telling what that man put down on paper before he killed himself."

"Oh, dear," moaned Cora. "I suppose I should see to Mary although I can't imagine she'll be willing to talk about it."

"Perhaps we all should go," said Isobel.

"The last thing she needs is the three of us ganging up on her," sniffed Violet. "Go, Cora, and for God's sake, try not to snivel. Let her talk if she wants to; otherwise, leave her alone."

* * *

After sending Cora from her room, Mary stretched out on her bed. The argument with Matthew, coupled with the long train ride from London, had exhausted her. As solicitous as her mama had been, Mary was in no mood to bare her soul. She appreciated Cora's willingness to listen; she just wasn't ready to talk. No. This was between Matthew and her, and she wasn't willing to involve her mama—or anyone else, for that matter—in the situation.

If she truly were honest with herself, Matthew's reaction to the letter surprised her. Geoff was dead and gone. Why should it matter to him if Geoff had bequeathed Babylon to her? It's not as if Geoff had left her money or jewels. Babylon was valuable, yes, but she had recommended his purchase and had been the first to ride him. There was a good chance no one had ridden him since. As for Matthew's telling her she could not accept the horse, how dare he say such a thing? She was not his to command! The more she thought about the heated words she and Matthew had exchanged, the angrier she became. He was jealous of a dead man—a man who, in the final tally, meant nothing to her. She might have been attracted to him at some point, but she never loved him, never desired him, never craved him the way she did Matthew. God, Matthew was stubborn and thickheaded!

She rang for Stephens. She missed her en suite bath in Painswick House although there was a private bath just down the hallway from her bedroom. Stephens helped her out of her day dress and drew a bath. She bathed quickly, and instead of dressing for dinner, she donned her favorite thick cotton nightgown. She would have dinner in her room and retire early. She was tired—too tired to put up any more of a fight—better to isolate herself for a while. Besides, lately her morning sickness seemed to be getting worse. Perhaps an early night after a light meal would help with the daily, early-morning nausea she'd been experiencing.

* * *

Matthew had no route in mind when he drove away in his AC. All he knew was he had to get away for a bit and clear his head. He cursed that letter-writing son of a bitch and his damn horse. Why couldn't Mary see his side of things? Why couldn't she understand the reason for his anger? The Duke admitted he loved and desired her. If she kept the horse, every time he saw her riding him, he'd remember the bruises on her wrists the night she returned from Northamptonshire. He'd remember her tearful recounting of the Duke's attack and the fury he felt at the telling of it. In spite of the man's illness, Matthew couldn't help hating him for what he put Mary through. Forgiving him for what he did to Mary was something he never would be able to do. To him, her accepting that animal seemed tantamount to keeping the Duke's memory alive. Besides, there was nothing in the letter that prevented her from selling the horse. God, he'd buy her a dozen horses if she asked! The fact that she couldn't understand his anger made him angrier still. Why did she have to be so stubborn and obtuse?

Matthew continued driving aimlessly, his mind awhirl with annoyance and resentment. He was not so foolish as to believe Mary actually had been in love with the Duke, but Matthew still remembered how panicked he felt when he realized the Duke's interest in her. Yes, the bastard was dead, but he didn't need a constant reminder of him housed in the stables. When he finally returned to the Abbey, he still seethed with resentment. He and Mary would have to talk after dinner.

* * *

Matthew sat silently, his face impassive, when Cora told him Mary was having dinner on a tray in her room. Her refusal to come down for dinner meant they wouldn't be able to clear the air between them, which irritated him; however, when Cora mentioned how exhausted Mary seemed, his anger immediately dissipated. He was aware of how much her daily morning sickness took out of her, and the train trip home along with their argument probably exacerbated her exhaustion. He resolved to try to put aside his anger after dinner and check on her.

As much as he didn't feel like talking, he managed to carry on a conversation with his mother, Cora, and Violet, all of whom seemed not to notice his reticence. Much to his relief, no mention was made of Geoff's letter although he was sure the ladies were curious as to its contents. He listened politely as the three women discussed the latest delivery of wedding gifts currently laid out in the morning room. As Isobel and Violet bickered about the extravagant display, his mind wandered upstairs to Mary. Despite his aggravation with her, he missed her presence.

The discussion turned to the renovations to the Dower House and Crawley House. Matthew was anxious to inspect the latest improvements, and he agreed to escort his mother and Violet to the Dower House the next day so they could see the progress for themselves. Cora invited herself along, so it was agreed they would leave mid-morning in order to visit both houses before luncheon.

"Do you suppose Mary would like to come along?" asked Isobel.

"I'm sure I don't know," replied Matthew glumly, adding that he suspected she would rather stay behind to sort out the wedding presents that had arrived during their absence. "I'll ask her when I go up."

"Mary said she wanted an early night, Matthew," said Cora carefully. "I suspect she's already retired for the evening." She refrained from telling him how pale and drawn Mary looked when she checked on her earlier. She planned to look in on her daughter herself, just to set her mind at ease.

Matthew was adamant. "I won't stay longer than a moment. I just want to be sure she's all right."

* * *

When Mary finished her dinner, she curled into a ball under the covers and tried to ward off the chill in the room. The bed was so empty. As put out with Matthew as she was, she missed the warmth of his body next to hers. They had been sleeping spooned together nightly, and she wondered how well she would sleep without him. Their argument preyed on her—and she hated they were going to bed angry—but as much as she missed him, she had locked her bedroom door for the first time since they'd been together. She needed sleep, not a continuation of their argument.

* * *

Matthew lay awake, furious that Mary obviously had locked him out of her room. He had knocked softly and hearing no response, tried the door only to find he couldn't gain admittance. He knew she was as angry as he, but he'd wanted only to check on her—he had no intention of reigniting the argument. Now he was as furious as he'd been earlier in the day and found himself unable to settle until, finally, he fell into a fitful sleep.

A rustling in the hallway and soft voices woke him. Matthew listened for a moment, uncertain exactly what had awakened him. He peered at the clock on his bedside table—3:40. Shaking off his covers, he donned his dressing gown and walked into the hallway, nearly colliding with Isobel and Cora.

"What's going on?" he asked warily.

"It's nothing, Matthew. Go back to bed," whispered Cora.

Matthew looked down the hallway and noticed Mary's door was open, the red walls glimmering in the dim light. He walked quickly toward her room, and his mother called after him, "She's not in there, Matthew."

"What do you mean she's not in there?" He tried to control the panic in his voice.

He looked back up the hallway at the two women and rushed toward them.

"Tell me what's going on, Mother."

"Mary awoke with severe nausea and came to me for help. Just as we reached the lavatory, she became quite ill. I managed to help her, and I woke Cora to help me get her back to her room. You may come with us if you like, but I warn you, Matthew, she's very weak, and I won't have you upsetting her."

"God, what do you take me for, Mother? Of course, I won't upset her."

"Very well, Matthew," Isobel replied, and she and Cora led him into the bathroom. Mary was on the floor, leaning against the tub. She was as pale as Matthew ever had seen her. Her eyes were closed, and she held a wet towel against her throat.

"Go away, please, Matthew," she implored. "Mama and Isobel can help me."

Without a word, Matthew picked her up from the floor and cradled her in his arms. He walked toward her room, Cora and Isobel trailing behind. Once inside, he laid her on her bed, placed the towel on the bedside table, and pulled the covers over her. He turned to Cora and Isobel. "Thank you, Mother, Cora. I'll see to her now."

"Matthew…"

"Cora, I said I'll see to her," he said, brooking no opposition. Seeing the wounded look on Cora's face, he moderated his tone, "Thank you both. Please, go back to bed. I'll call if I need you."

Isobel placed a packet of powder on Mary's night table. "Mix this in some water and have her drink it. It should help with her headache and quell the nausea." When Matthew looked at the packet skeptically, she added, "It won't hurt the baby, Matthew, but it will help her."

Cora leaned over Mary, took her hand, and kissed her forehead. "Good night, my darling. If you need anything…"

"Thank you, Mama. Thank you, Isobel. I'm sorry…"

"Think nothing of it, sweet girl. We'll see you in the morning," clucked Isobel. "Good night, Matthew. Be sure Mary rests."

"I will, Mother. Good night, Cora."

* * *

Once he and Mary were alone, he mixed the powder into a glass of water he'd poured from a decanter on the night table and gave it to Mary to drink. She settled back into the pillows, and he used the damp towel to smooth away some errant hairs from her face. Sitting on the edge of her bed, he leaned in and kissed her gently. "Mary, I wish…" he began.

"Please, Matthew, I just want to sleep. Can we talk tomorrow?"

"Of course, my love." He turned off the lamp and continued to sit beside her.

She awoke the next morning to find him nestled beside her on top of the covers, his hand still holding hers.

* * *

When Matthew, Isobel, Cora, and Violet returned to the Abbey from their excursion, he searched the house for Mary. She was nowhere to be found. She had elected to stay behind to sort out the wedding gifts, just as he suspected she would, but she had assured him they would talk upon his return. Finally, he sought out Carson and asked if he knew where she was.

"She's gone to the stables," said Carson. "She took delivery of a horse about an hour ago and said she needed to meet with Lynch. Would you like me to call to inform her of your return?"

"No, thank you, Carson. I'll go to her." Matthew's heart wrenched. Babylon had arrived sooner than he expected. Now that the horse was on the estate, removing him definitely would be a problem.

As Matthew arrived at the stables, Lynch was in a lorry preparing to drive away.

"Lynch, wait. Is Lady Mary in the stable?"

"Yes, my lord. I was just leaving to pick up some supplies. Do you need me to stay?"

"No. Tell me, is she with the animal that just was delivered?"

"Yes, sir. That's a fine horse, I must say. Arabians can be skittish in new surroundings, but Lady Mary seemed to put him at ease right away. But, she always has had a special way with horses. She just seems to have the touch."

"Thank you, Lynch."

Matthew strode into the stable and stopped short. There, at the last stall in the row, stood Mary. She was rubbing the horse's nose and talking softly to him. Even to Matthew's untrained eye, the horse was one of the most splendid animals he had ever seen. He sensed this animal was special.

"There, there, my good boy," Mary tutted soothingly, unaware of Matthew's presence. "You're going to fit in just fine. How beautiful you are." Matthew watched, entranced, as her hand caressed Babylon's neck and withers. The kinship between the pair was obvious, and the serenity on her face made his heart jump. "I know you're wondering what you're doing here," she said softly, "but this is your new home. It won't be long before you settle right in. I'll introduce you to my Diamond, and you'll soon be fast friends." The horse seemed to be putty in her hands. He snorted and rubbed his nose against Mary's neck. She laughed at the gesture and began smoothing his mane between her fingers. She continued, "Once my Matthew gets a look at you, he'll fall in love with you, too, don't you worry." She reached into her pocket and pulled out an apple. "Here, darling boy." Babylon's lips flapped as he attempted to take the fruit from her hand. Once he had it in his mouth, Mary bent down to retrieve a large pail of oats sitting next to the stall.

Matthew jumped forward. "Here, let me," he called.

She turned quickly, surprised to see him. "I didn't know you were here," she said stiffly.

"I asked Carson where you were. He told me Babylon had arrived."

He walked to her, picked up the heavy pail, and placed it inside the stall. Babylon turned his head as Matthew ran his hand over the animal's shoulder. "He's a fine animal, Mary."

"He is indeed."

"I suppose you're intent on keeping him."

"I am."

Babylon bobbed his head up and down and snorted into Mary's hair.

Matthew laughed. "It's obvious he intends to stay. How can I argue with such a determined animal? I can't fight the two of you."

"Oh, Matthew. I know you're not happy with me right now, but I need you to understand it's the horse that I want, not a memory of Geoff. He was a dalliance, a flirtation, nothing more. Please, my darling, _please_ realize you're the only man I'll ever love. I'll care for Babylon because he needs me, but _I_ need _you_. Never forget that."

"And I need you, Mary, so much." He took her into his arms and kissed her hungrily. She felt his instant response to her press against her belly, and she moaned into his mouth. After breaking the kiss, he spied a blanket folded over the gate to an empty stall. Fresh hay had been spread on the stall's floor, and he pulled her over to the gate and kissed her again.

"Lynch has gone to pick up supplies. Is anyone else here?" he asked while trailing kisses down her neck.

"Not that I know of. What are you thinking, Matthew?" she replied as she melted into his embrace. His roaming hands and fervent kisses were causing her breath to hitch.

"Just that it seems a shame to waste an opportunity." He pulled her body tighter to his and forced his leg between her knees, pressing the top of his thigh against her pelvis. She inhaled sharply and nodded just slightly. Wordlessly, he led her into the stall, spread out the blanket, went down on his knees facing her, and grasped her hips. "Forgive me? I was a jealous fool."

She looked down at him with such adoration, his heart pounded nearly out of his chest. For her part, she saw that his cerulean eyes had darkened with desire, and her heart melted. She went to her knees and faced him. "Of course, my love, but you should have faith that I'll never do anything to jeopardize what we have." She leaned her forehead against his as his hands pressed into her and traveled slowly up her sides.

"I promise, Mary. It's important that we never run from each other ever again." His hands found her breasts, and his lips moved to her neck as he began to unbutton her blouse, pulling it from the waistband of her skirt and removing it when he finished. He pulled off his own jacket and shirt, and then his hands lifted her chemise and his mouth went immediately to her breasts, his tongue playing with her pebbled nipples as her hands coursed through his hair and moved to his shoulders. He raised his head and looked at her, his pupils dilated. "I want you so much," he murmured as he assailed her neck and lips.

"Then have me, Matthew. You know I'm yours," she replied, almost out of breath with desire. One of her hands moved to his trousers, and she began to stroke his erection through the fabric. "And you're mine, aren't you?"

"Yes. Always." He was lost in the sensation her hand produced, and he ground himself into her, the friction between their bodies causing both of them to pant with longing. Still on their knees, simultaneously their fingers moved to buttons and zippers—his to her skirt, hers to his trousers—and in an instant, they both were exposed to the brisk, early December air, warmed only by the heat of the large stove that serviced the stable. His hand moved between her legs, found the wetness there, and she moaned as his fingers entered her. Pressing his thumb against the source of her most intense pleasure, Matthew pumped his fingers into her and led her to a shuddering release. Just as she was reaching for him, he took her by the shoulders and turned her, spreading her legs. His knees moved between hers, and he pulled her back against his chest. Her head fell back onto his shoulder as he ran his hands over the front of her torso. His hands stopped when he reached her belly. _There was a slight bump!_

"My God, Mary," he whispered as he kissed the top of her shoulder. "I love you so much. Thank you, my darling."

One of her hands covered his, and she moved the other to grasp behind his neck. "Surprise," she purred. She closed her eyes as his hands moved back and forth over her belly, relishing the feel of his gentle touch, her arousal heightened. Suddenly, she fell forward on all fours, looked over her shoulder at his surprised face, and said in a sultry voice, "Come on, Matthew. Take me now."

He reached toward her—one hand on her shoulder, the other on her hip—and he entered her roughly, nearly overcome as she cried, "Yes!" He began to pound into her, and she matched his thrusts, bucking back wantonly, trembling with desire. She continued to cry out as his thrusts became more and more fervent when suddenly, she seized, arched her back, and shuddered as she came undone. Matthew clutched her waist and roared powerfully, his hips pounding like pistons until he released. He fell forward onto his hands, arcing over her body and panting uncontrollably. He fell to the side and clutched her in his arms.

"My God, Mary, what you do to me," he gasped as he pulled the edge of the blanket over them. "That was otherworldly."

Mary smiled into his chest. "It truly was. I don't know what came over me. I just needed you so desperately."

His hand moved down and rubbed her belly. "So, now it's becoming real."

"Oh, it's been real for a while, considering how sick I've been," she replied ruefully. "Soon I'll be fat, and you won't want me."

He kissed her forehead. "That _never_ will happen, my love. Trust me. But I must admit I've been concerned about how sick you've been. Shouldn't you see a doctor about this?" Her daily morning sickness had preyed on him since it had begun.

"I'm supposed to see Clarkson next week, but honestly, Matthew, once the sickness passes, I feel fine, just tired. It's the oddest thing. Last night scared me, I'll admit, but from what I've been told, it's not that unusual."

"Perhaps you should see a specialist in London," replied Matthew. "I don't have the greatest confidence in Clarkson's diagnostic abilities."

"I understand why you don't, darling, but I'm pregnant, not ill. Let's hear what he has to say before doing something rash. There's a good chance the sickness will abate in a couple of weeks or so."

Matthew nodded, but his mind still was troubled. He hated that Mary was plagued with morning sickness, despite the joy he felt about her pregnancy. He rose and collected their clothing, handing Mary hers before he began to dress. He found her jacket hanging on a hook next to Babylon's stall and helped her don it. She walked over to the stall and gave Babylon's nose one last caress. "I'll see you later, sweet boy. I'm so glad you're here."

* * *

Mary and Matthew walked into the Abbey and headed upstairs to change. They had missed luncheon, but Carson assured them Mrs. Patmore had kept their plates warm. As they made their way up the staircase hand-in-hand, they met Violet and Isobel coming down, greeted them, and continued on their way.

Violet looked at Isobel knowingly. "Quarrel over," she said with a simper.

"Indeed," replied Isobel.


	32. Chapter 32

"Mmmm. My God, Matthew, don't stop."

Matthew looked up from between Mary's tethered legs. "You like that, do you?" he said with a salacious grin as he reached for the half-empty bowl of ice cream.

 _What had begun as a playful exchange one evening after a particularly boring dinner party turned into a night of full-fledged sexual decadence when Matthew followed Mary into her bedroom. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off her all night—through cocktails, small talk, the entrée, dessert. He thought the gown she wore was particularly provocative—a shimmering gold, tabard-style silk column dress with a handkerchief hem, rhinestone ornaments, and a scandalously low back. Whether moving or standing still, she glowed. Mary, too, aware of Matthew's heated gaze, found herself unable to concentrate as she tried to listen to Sir-what's-his-name's prattling about the servant shortage; she didn't remember the meal or the wine or the company because Matthew's crystal-blue eyes kept her entranced. Once they were safely ensconced in Mary's room, Matthew stood behind her and ran his hands under her arms and beneath the sumptuous fabric of her dress and found her breasts, tweaking and pinching her sensitive nipples as she moaned in pleasure. "I've wanted you all night," he hissed as he pulled her backwards into his chest and made quick work of the dress's thin shoulder straps, sending them down her arms and causing the gown to fall from her body. Her intimate apparel followed. Mary's head fell back onto his shoulder as his hands found purchase between her legs and the kisses he rained up and down her neck sent a thunderous rippling throughout her body._

 _Still quaking, she turned and went to her knees, unzipped his trousers—pushing them and his drawers down in one quick motion—and said seductively, "Watch me," and took him into her mouth. The swirling of her tongue around his hard length and the smoothness of her hands grasping the backs of his thighs caused Matthew's eyes to roll back as he held her head and stroked and stroked and, at last, emptied into the velvety warmth of her mouth. Almost before she had a chance to catch her breath, she found herself being scooped into his strong arms then placed naked on her bed with him hovering over her like a predator while he removed the rest of his clothing. His eyes were midnight blue with desire and anticipation as he held the four crimson drapery tiebacks in his hands…._

After freeing her ankles, Matthew crept up her body, his breath hot against her skin, pausing only to place his cheek for a long moment against her belly, his eyes never leaving hers. Mary's left leg was bent at the knee as her right foot traced a path up the back of his leg from his calf to the top of his thigh and down again. _How she loved him!_ After he untied her hands, he kissed her desperately… passionately… ravenously. Her fingers laced in his hair; his teeth scraped across her collarbone. She heard a low groan coming from the back of his throat as he pressed himself against her. _She was everything!_ Her pelvis rose instinctively, desperate for the union…the connection…the fulfillment. As his mouth met hers, his hands skimmed up and down the sides of her body, brushing over the swell of her breasts, down her waist to her hips, pulling her into him.

"You are so beautiful, Mary," he said, and the low hum of his voice caused her to tremble. His eyes roved over her body as he kneeled between her legs and sat back onto his ankles. "Come here," he whispered, holding out his hand. He pulled her up onto him so she now was straddling his thighs, her legs around his waist, her chest to his chest, her face to his face, their breaths intermingling, their eyes on fire. "God, what you do to me," he murmured, slipping his arms around her back and kissing her along her jaw. "Relax, Mary, I've got you," he said as she arched into him.

"Matthew, don't ever let me go," Mary sighed as she rolled her head to the side to give him better access to her neck. "Promise me."

"Oh, God, never," he breathed as she grasped his rigid member and sank down onto him, both of them savoring the sensation created by their coupling. "I love you," Matthew groaned as he slid his hands up her back, and she mewled as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers twining into his hair. They clung to one another, the slipperiness of their bodies a fleshly fête as they glided, undulated, inhaled and exhaled, rose and fell in a sensual rhythm all their own.

"Do you feel that, Mary?" he whispered against her jaw. "Do you feel how much I love you?" His fingers drummed against the ridges of her spine, moving upward until they reached her neck and moved into her hair, raking it slowly away from her face.

"Yes, oh, yes," she replied, nearly overwhelmed by her need for him. "God, I love you…so much…so much." Her hands found the deeply-carved muscles in his abdomen, chest, and back as they moved over his body, sending her into a tailspin of desire.

Mary gasped as Matthew's hands slid down and gripped her ass, and he thrust into her, driving her to her first release.

"Matthew!" she cried while grinding against him, throwing her head back, and closing her eyes.

"Look at me, Mary," he demanded, and she opened her eyes. Her wet heat enveloped him, and her muscles clenched as he continued to plunge into her. The unbridled hunger and passion she saw in his eyes tipped her over the edge once again, and she spent spectacularly around him—pulsing, throbbing, flying—until his urgent thrusts led him to his own stunning release.

Later, lying in Matthew's arms, Mary allowed herself a moment of reflection. The term "intercourse" seemed so cold and clinical and couldn't possibly define what she experienced when she and Matthew made love. The way he touched her, held her in his arms, and caressed her body as if she were the most valuable thing in the world to him told her more than words ever could. Loving him was easy, natural, and beyond anything she could have imagined. She raised her head to look at him and saw he was sleeping, a hint of a smile on his lips, his face peaceful—and so beautiful. Nestling back into his embrace, her ear against his chest, she smiled. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat matched her own. _He was her Matthew._ _How she loved him._

* * *

Matthew was in Ripon for the day to meet with his law partners, something he believed he had postponed for far too long. Although he had taken a leave of absence from the firm, he felt a responsibility to check in occasionally, and after the wedding he hoped to return to the office at least on a part-time basis because the estate's business had reached a point where he was comfortable leaving for the day. He knew Mary certainly was more than capable of handling any kind of issue that arose, and he would be only a telephone call away if she needed to reach him.

 _Being back in the office felt good_ , he admitted to himself. His office was just as he left it—smelling of fusty law books, old leather, and furniture polish. Light peeking from between the slats in the blinds revealed dust motes swirling through the air when he moved into the room. He sat in his swivel chair, leaned back, and smiled as he put his hands behind his head. _Yes_ , he thought, _it almost was time to get back into harness_. He stared for a moment at Mary's picture in the silver frame he had placed on his desk. Life was good, and he prayed it would continue to be now that he knew what it meant to love and be loved so completely. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he began thumbing through the folders on his desk, inspecting documents and re-familiarizing himself with his clients and their issues. His partners had picked up the slack admirably, and he found himself well pleased with the way the firm was conducting itself. After meeting with his partners and some clients for a couple of hours in the afternoon, he gathered a small stack of documents, placed them into a briefcase, and departed for home. The brisk, sunny morning had transformed into a cold, cloudy afternoon, and he wondered if snow were in the offing although it seemed early in the season. Nevertheless, by the time he reached Downton, snow was falling steadily, and to the great relief of the Abbey's inhabitants, he made it home unscathed.

* * *

While Matthew was gone, Mary found herself at loose ends, so she commenced to work on several different wedding tasks. She met with Carson about wine for the reception, rearranged the gifts, and wrote two dozen thank-you notes. Violet and Isobel were preparing for the move into Crawley House, and the chaos surrounding them caused a great upheaval in the Abbey since they spent the better part of the day upstairs directing servants who were packing the trunks that dotted the hallway outside their rooms. Both women were harried, and when Mary offered her assistance, they declined saying they had everything well in hand. Based on the women's barked instructions and the servants' frustrated looks, Mary decided to make herself scarce and went downstairs to the study.

Mary was reading over some documents Stuart had sent for her perusal when Cora popped her head into the study.

"May I interrupt you for a moment?"

"Of course, Mama."

Cora entered the room and sat on the settee, her posture, as always, erect. Mary noticed she appeared to be slightly uncomfortable and waited for her to speak. "I just was wondering how you're feeling. We haven't talked much since..."

"I'm fine, Mama…"

"It's just that you were so ill the other night, I worry about you."

"Well, I'm still sick in the mornings, if that's what you're asking, but it hasn't been too bad the last few days."

"I'm glad to hear it." Cora relaxed somewhat and leaned forward as if she were imparting a secret. "I remember thinking my morning sickness _never_ would end. And, oh! how certain smells affected me."

Mary was intrigued. "Really, Mama? Smells? I don't seem to have that problem—so far."

"Perhaps you won't; not everyone does. But, my goodness, your poor papa! When he wore his favorite cologne, I'd swoon, and _not_ from desire, I can assure you." Cora's hand went to her mouth, and she blushed when she realized what she had disclosed. "Oh, my, I don't know why I said that." Mary laughed, delighted her mama had been so forthcoming. Cora continued, her voice lowered, still sounding rather guarded, "The smell positively made me ill the entire time I was pregnant with you—with your sisters, too, as I recall. I finally convinced him not to wear it anymore when I threatened him with separate bedrooms."

They both giggled like schoolgirls, and Mary said, "Don't worry, Mama. I _like_ to hear about you and Papa. I know so little of your personal life together."

"Well, I was raised to believe such things weren't to be discussed, especially with one's children. That seems rather silly now, I suppose."

"Oh, I don't know," Mary replied, "although I must admit I would have preferred some discussion with you rather than being told what _not_ to do all the time." She saw Cora's chagrined look and was quick to ask, "So…you were sick when you were pregnant?"

"Oh, my, yes. I was miserable for weeks and weeks, especially when I was pregnant with Edith."

Mary suppressed a smile. "Why especially with Edith?"

"The sickness occurred at all hours of the day and night and lasted almost the entire pregnancy. Your father was at his wit's end by the time she was delivered."

 _That might explain a lot_ , Mary thought to herself wryly.

Mary and Cora continued to talk into the afternoon—about marriage, motherhood, and children. Mary listened, sometimes with tears in her eyes, as Cora told her how she regretted that nannies had raised her children. She had missed so much—first words, first steps, among other things—and she encouraged Mary to enjoy her children when they were young. She also shared stories about being a young bride in a strange country and having to adjust to life as the wife of a future earl. Mary sat in rapt attention as Cora answered all her questions; it was as if a true friendship had been forged, and the wall between them slowly began to crumble.

When Matthew returned from Ripon, he found the two women in the study sitting side-by-side on the settee, laughing and talking, and he sensed a change for the better in their relationship, which pleased him to no end.

* * *

Finally, it was moving day for Violet and Isobel, and the Abbey was in an uproar. The odd thing was there wasn't much to move other than clothing; nevertheless, there was much scurrying about because the two women were determined to take possession of their new home by teatime and were making everyone's life miserable in the process. Violet had planted herself on a chair at the foot of the stairway and used her cane to direct Carson, Barrow, a few footmen—and Matthew—up and down the stairs to retrieve forgotten items, to check the same drawers repeatedly, and to remind Isobel to hurry along. For her part, Isobel flitted about upstairs, moving back and forth between her room and Violet's, overseeing the process and contributing little in the way of expediency.

At the end of his rope, Matthew searched for Mary, finding her hiding out in the study. She grinned when she saw his haggard appearance.

"Darling, you've got to help me. I'm about to lose my mind," he muttered piteously.

"Oh, I thought you said you'd have things under control in no time," she replied drolly.

"I was wrong. I admit it. If Cousin Violet tells Carson to check the wardrobe for her fox collar one more time, I'm afraid he'll resign in a huff. Then where would we be? And my mother is completely out of control, or rather, she wants to be _in_ control, which is making everyone upstairs extremely testy. Please, Mary. I beg of you, have some pity. Perhaps Cousin Violet and Mother will listen to you."

Mary stood, grasped Matthew by his upper arms, and led him to his side of their partners' desk, where she directed him to sit down. Planting a kiss to his forehead, she said sweetly, "I'll be back in a moment, darling," and strode out of the room.

Fifteen minutes later, she re-entered the room and found Matthew bent over the desk, his head resting on his arms. "The coast is clear, Matthew," she announced.

He raised his head and looked at her in amazement. "How in the world did you do it?"

"I simply told them Mama and Mrs. Hughes were at the Dower House rearranging the furniture in their new rooms and hoped they'd appreciate how hard they were working."

"My God, Mary. That's genius. And they are gone now?"

"Oh, yes. It's been years since I've seen Granny move so quickly. One thing, though…"

Matthew looked at her warily, "What?"

"I promised we'd come for tea this afternoon and bring along anything they'd left behind."

"A small price to pay. My darling, I can't thank you enough. How will I ever repay you?"

"Hmmm. I'll think of something," she replied smiling pensively. "I wish you could have seen Carson's face when I told him they were gone. He positively beamed when he realized he could stand down."

* * *

That afternoon Matthew sat behind the wheel of the Crossley and drove carefully along the road to the Dower House. Mary sat beside him and pulled up the wide fur collar of her wool suede coat. Winter definitely had arrived. There had been a fairly significant snowfall the day before and large patches of ice and snow still covered the road.

Finally reaching their destination, Matthew helped Mary from the motor. They stood together for a moment and surveyed the exterior of the Dower House. The exterior was newly-painted, and black shutters stood out crisply and distinctly against the cream trim and red-brick exterior. Snow covered the roof and porch overhang on the front of the house, giving the house a picturesque quality.

"It's lovely, Matthew."

"Yes, a facelift definitely was in order." Matthew was pleased with the house's renovation and made a mental note to thank the architect and workmen once again for their stellar work. The small front porch had been added to the structure, contributing to the house's welcoming façade.

"Let's get inside," said Mary, shivering from the cold. "We can admire the interior handiwork. I'm freezing!"

The wind had picked up, and the air crackled with iciness. As they headed toward the house, Matthew noticed one of the shutters on the second level above the porch had become unmoored and was banging against the side of the house. _That will never do_ , he thought to himself.

Matthew's arm went around Mary's waist as they climbed the steps onto the porch. "Watch your step, darling." The steps had been cleared of most of the snow, but there still were slippery spots.

Spratt, Violet's taciturn butler, greeted them at the door.

"Hello, Spratt," said Matthew, "Are the ladies settling in?"

"Yes, although her ladyship and Mrs. Crawley seem to be at odds over furniture placement in the main parlour."

"I suspect you'll be called upon to referee at times, Spratt," laughed Matthew. "I hope it won't be too taxing to deal with their idiosyncrasies."

"Not at all, sir. The ladies are quite amusing. It is my pleasure to be of service."

Isobel greeted the couple and led them into the parlour where Violet sat impassively in a large, high-backed chair. The room was furnished with furniture that belonged to both women, which gave it an eclectic style that reflected both women's tastes.

"This is a pleasant room, Granny," said Mary, looking around approvingly. "It's so warm and cozy." Mary ran her hand over an inlaid burled walnut table. "This is a lovely piece."

"Thank you, Mary," replied Isobel with a self-satisfied smile. "It's one of the pieces I brought from Manchester when Matthew and I moved into Crawley House. It had been in my bedroom, but it seems more suited to a parlour."

Violet sniffed. "It adds to the overcrowding of the room if you ask me. How am I supposed to maneuver around all of these tables, stands, and stools? I'm in danger of having my feet snatched out from under me whenever I walk into the room."

"Really, Mama," said Cora, who was comfortably seated on a balloon-back sofa, "you oversaw the placement of every piece in here."

"Exactly, Violet," said Isobel, her face triumphant. "If you will recall, I suggested we might make do with fewer pieces. Are you saying only things that belong to me should go?"

"Mother, perhaps you would give us a tour?" interrupted Matthew, not anxious for the confrontation to escalate. "Mary and I would love to see the rest of the house."

Isobel took a deep breath and led Matthew and Mary through the first floor, pointing out elements of craftsmanship she though especially fine, and then they followed her upstairs to look at the two suites set on opposite ends of the house. After admiring Isobel's room, they entered Violet's, the young couple suppressing smiles when Isobel pointed out Violet's new mahogany dressing table. Matthew gripped Mary's hand, both of them remembering a rather fevered tryst no so long ago. "That's a handsome piece," said Matthew, his eyes twinkling. "It looks as if it is quite sturdy." It was all Mary could do to keep from laughing out loud, and she pinched his waist when Isobel walked to the window.

"What _is_ that banging?" asked Isobel. "Can you hear it?"

"Oh, it's that blasted shutter," said Matthew. "We saw that it had come unlatched when we arrived. Let me take a look." He opened the window and stuck his head outside. The icy wind poured into the room as he leaned across the sill.

"Violet won't be able to rest with that thumping against the house all night," commented Isobel. "Perhaps she won't mind sleeping in the first floor guest room until someone can come by to fix it."

"Don't be silly, Mother," replied Matthew. "The latch has come undone, that's all. I can fix it easily." He sat on the sill, swung his legs over it, and stood on the porch's pitched roof while holding on to the window frame.

"Matthew, be careful. It's bound to be slippery," said Mary, her voice laced with concern.

Matthew grinned at her through the window. "There are some clear spots. Don't worry."

Isobel and Mary stood shivering at the open window and watched as Matthew inched his way over to the loose shutter. He grabbed the hook that was fastened to the brick and placed it into the metal ring attached to the shutter's edge. "There. All done."

Just as Mary and Isobel were breathing sighs of relief, Matthew stepped back from the shutter, and his foot slipped on a patch of ice hidden under the snow that covered the roof. He made a grab for the window ledge, but the overhang's pitch carried him away from the side of the house. Mary and Isobel watched in horror as his hands grasped for purchase and finding none, flailed as his body tumbled down the roof and over the edge. They heard a horrific thump followed by an unnerving groan as his body landed on the ground.

"MY GOD, MATTHEW!" screamed Mary. She turned, and ignoring Isobel's paralyzed gasps, tore down the stairs, screaming at her granny and mama to call Clarkson. She jerked open the front door and stopped dead in her tracks, for there, lying unconscious on his back in the snow, was

her love—

the father of her child

the man she loved beyond measure

her Matthew.

* * *

By the time Isobel made it down the stairs and out the door, Mary was kneeling over Matthew's still body and was speaking softly to him. Spratt had brought out her coat and covered her shoulders, but she continued to shiver uncontrollably. She remembered vividly having seen him this lifeless once before, and try as she might, she could not rip the terrifying vision from her brain. He was as unresponsive now as he had been that terrible day he was brought to the hospital during the war. Mary reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and began to wipe away some blood that was trickling from his ear.

"You silly man," she whispered brokenly. "Taking such a chance and now look at you. So untidy." She folded the handkerchief, wet it with her mouth, and continued to wipe gently. "Darling, you're so pale. You must wake up and come inside. Please, my love. You'll catch your death…" Her hand went to her mouth, and she tried to stifle a sob. "Please, Matthew. Wake up. Please."

Violet and Cora stood in the doorway, and a terrified Cora called out that Clarkson was on his way. Isobel turned to thank her and knelt down on the other side of her son's still body, calling to Spratt to bring a blanket. Taking Matthew's hand in hers, her skilled fingers went to his wrist, and to her relief, she felt a pulse although it was quite thready. Isobel tried to suppress a shudder as memories of her son's previous injury flashed into her mind. She knew the bruise he carried on his spine might well be re-aggravated by the force of the impact from the fall. As cold as the weather was, she couldn't risk moving him, so she waited, hoping against hope, that her worst fears wouldn't be realized. Spratt brought out her coat and a blanket, handing both to her solicitously. She thanked him, donned the coat, and covered Matthew with the blanket. She looked over at Mary, who was deathly pale, shivering, and still wielding the now-bloodstained handkerchief, and said, "My dear, I'll stay with him. You should go inside and get warm. It's not good for you or the baby to stay out here."

Mary looked at Isobel incredulously, her eyes deadened with fear. "I'm not going anywhere. He needs me. I won't leave him." Her eyes returned to Matthew's face, and she resumed her ministrations, whispering to him while wiping away the last traces of blood that had trickled onto his neck and moving an errant lock of his hair away from his forehead and back into place.

Finally, Doctor Clarkson arrived with an assistant who was driving a lorry that recently had been converted into an ambulance, thanks to Matthew's insistence that the inhabitants of Downton and its outlying areas should have one available for emergencies. Matthew had spearheaded the fund drive and already it had been put to good use several times.

Clarkson's heart clenched when he saw Matthew lying so still on his back. His earlier misdiagnosis still plagued him, and he knew a fall such as the one Matthew had taken might have dire consequences. Isobel rose and stepped back, allowing the doctor to kneel and begin a cursory examination. As his knees sank into the soggy, snow-covered ground, he gave silent thanks since falling flat onto hard, frozen ground from such a height most likely would have resulted in further damage to Matthew's delicate spine. There was a chance, albeit a slight one, that Matthew's back would be none the worse for wear; however, he was greatly concerned about damage to Matthew's head since he still had not regained consciousness. He noticed the bloody handkerchief in Mary's hand and asked, "Where did that blood come from, Lady Mary?"

She never looked away from Matthew, but replied softly, "His ear was bleeding, but it seems to have stopped now. I cleaned it off the best I could…" She caressed his cheek looking for a response… a word…a look… a sign.

"Yes, well, we should get him to the hospital now so I can do a more thorough examination." Clarkson motioned to the attendant, who brought over a stretcher and laid it on the ground next to Matthew.

"You can't treat him here?" asked Mary fearfully.

"It's better to take him to the hospital, my dear," said Isobel, grasping her hand.

"Yes, Lady Mary. I'll be able to use our new X-ray machine to discern if he has any…um…fractures."

* * *

Just as Matthew was positioned onto the stretcher, his eyelids fluttered. He hurt everywhere. His body felt as if it were on fire, his limbs were heavy, and his head throbbed as if it were on the verge of exploding. He feared any movement would exacerbate his distress. The memory of what had caused him this kind of anguish was fuzzy because the pain that resulted from his fall had caused him to black out almost immediately. His last thoughts were of Mary before he fell into a kind of void. He had no idea how long he had been lying there, unable to respond to the voices around him. Somehow he found the strength to open his eyes and whisper her name. Mary hovered over him, her hand over her mouth and tears rolling down her face. He wanted to pull her down to him and kiss her for the rest of their lives. Mary whispered _I love you_ against his lips, and he fell back into unconsciousness with a hint of a smile on his face.


	33. Chapter 33

Isobel and Cora sat silently in the back of the motor as Doctor Clarkson's assistant drove the Crossley on the snowy road between the Dower House and the village hospital. Up ahead, the taillights of the lorry-turned-ambulance shimmered. Inside were Mary and Doctor Clarkson—he at the wheel; she in the back clinging desperately to Matthew's limp hand. Although the trip took only minutes, to Mary it was an endless nightmare of a journey.

In the stillness of the Dower House, Violet sat silently, hoping against hope that Matthew's injuries were not a harbinger of heartbreak.

* * *

Her hands were numb.

Rubbing them together didn't seem to help, yet she persisted.

Her brain echoed with the sound of a thump.

Garbled voices reverberated in the hallway, but she couldn't make out what was being said.

Her hands were numb.

Her chest was hollow.

Her brain echoed with the sound of a groan.

She stared at the closed door, willing it to open.

Behind the door was her life.

Her love was in that room.

Someone was calling her name.

She continued to stare at the closed door.

"Mary?"

"Mary, dear?"

She looked toward the sound but couldn't respond.

Her mind was numb.

 _Thump_.

 _Groan_.

 _Please, God, please._

* * *

The village hospital had undergone numerous renovations in the past several years, and one of its most prized possessions was a Engeln tilting X-ray table, purchased with monies raised during the hospital's major fundraising drive held the previous year. It was manufactured in America by the Engeln Electric Company and was considered the company's top product. Its design allowed for images of greater size and clarity, and each time Doctor Clarkson used it, he thought what a godsend it would have been during the war.

When the unconscious Earl was placed on the table, Doctor Clarkson adjusted the table's tilt and flipped on the fluoroscopic screen. He turned on the Coolidge x-ray tube and held his breath as he looked closely at the image of the Earl's lower back projected on the screen. The room was silent save for the humming of the transformer, and the tension in the room was palpable. The doctor let go a sigh of relief when he saw no evidence of a break on any part of the spine, and he turned off the machine and directed his assistant to help him move the Earl's head into position. The fact that blood had come from the Earl's ear concerned him, but because Lady Mary had cleaned it away so thoroughly, he had no clue as to the severity of the damage that might have occurred.

Once the Earl's head was secured in place, the machine was turned on once again, and the doctor peered at the screen. There, on the right side of the Earl's head, was a tiny, hairline fracture—one that easily might be missed by an untrained eye. The tiny fracture accounted for the bleeding and the unconsciousness, but judging from its size, it did not worry the doctor unduly. Still, a skull fracture was nothing to be cavalier about—the doctor knew all too well such fractures caused headaches, confusion, blurred vision, and dizziness, among other things, and patients needed a great deal of watching at first and rest for weeks thereafter.

Doctor Clarkson opened the door and walked into the hallway. Three expectant faces snapped toward him, but he directed his eyes to the palest of them and began to speak.

* * *

Mary tried desperately to ingest what Clarkson was saying, but the ringing in her ears and her pounding heart mangled his words. She was aware that Cora and Isobel were on either side of her, grasping her hands, providing support. She watched as Matthew was wheeled out of the examination room and into a private room prepared for his arrival. She was torn. She wanted to run to his side immediately, but Clarkson kept talking about Matthew's injuries in a jumble of words she knew she should try to sort out. _No spinal injury…a small skull fracture…recovery takes time…he needs rest…._

Mary closed her eyes and attempted to process the information while holding back the bile that seemed to have lodged at the base of her throat. She opened her eyes and looked at Isobel and saw tear-filled eyes bright with relief.

"Lady Mary? Are you quite all right? Perhaps you should sit…"

"A…a skull fracture? What does that mean, Doctor Clarkson?"

"Just what it sounds like, Lady Mary. There's a tiny fracture on the right side of the skull. That fracture is what caused the bleeding from his ear."

"And his back hasn't been affected by the fall?" asked Isobel, still watching Mary carefully.

"There's no evidence of any spinal fracture, Mrs. Crawley, although I'm sure he'll be quite sore, and the existing bruise may be affected. The head injury, on the other hand, needs careful watching. We'll know more when he regains consciousness."

"May I see him now?" asked Mary. She had heard enough. Slowly but surely, her fortitude was returning, and she was impatient to see Matthew.

"Well, uh, he's still unconscious, so you might…"

Mary would brook no argument. "I need to see him now."

"Mary, why don't you go back to the Abbey and rest for a bit? Your dress is drenched from kneeling in the snow so long. You could rest, change clothes, and return this evening. He won't know you're not here," said Cora gently, noting Mary's shaken demeanor and wet clothing.

Suddenly, clarity returned fully, and Mary straightened her shoulders. She stepped away from Cora and replied imperiously, " _I'll_ know I'm not here, Mama. If you wish, go back to the Abbey and have Stephens sort out some clothes for me and send them along. I'm not leaving."

"Mary…" interjected Isobel.

Mary wheeled on her future mother-in-law. "I'm not leaving, Isobel!"

Isobel was contrite. "I only was going to say I believe we can have a cot moved into Matthew's room. That way you could rest a while but not be away from him. Doctor Clarkson?" Isobel looked to him for confirmation.

"That could be arranged, but I really think…" He took one look at Mary's resolute demeanor and shook his head in resignation. He knew all too well how determined the Crawley women could be once they had the bits between their teeth.

"Thank you, Isobel. That's a splendid idea. I assume you're staying here tonight?" Isobel nodded. "Mama, please call the Abbey and ask Stephens to sort out enough clothing and toiletries to last me for several days. I'll also need something to read. Then call Granny and have her maid collect some dry clothes for Isobel. Have Thompson pick up Isobel's clothing and bring both of our bags here. Then he can take you back to the Abbey."

"Mary, I'll be happy to stay if you'd like."

Mary took Cora's hand gratefully. "Thank you, Mama, but it's not necessary. I'll call as soon as there's news. You should go back to the Abbey and get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

She looked pointedly at the doctor. "Now, I'm going to Matthew."

* * *

Mary sat vigil at Matthew's bedside. After showering quickly in one of the hospital bathrooms and changing into dry clothes, she planted herself in a chair beside Matthew's bed and waited for him to awaken. The hot shower had felt good, for she was chilled to the bone as a result of the ordeal. As she stared at his face so peaceful in repose, her heart hammered in her chest, and her mind was filled with images and memories. She thought about her life in London—the emptiness, the mindlessness—and how everything had changed when she returned to Downton in April for her papa's funeral. It took four months, _four months_ , for the walls around her heart to break down, and since that time she fairly ached with love for Matthew. Her hand ran over her belly, and she was aware that the slight bump seemed to grow more each day. Thinking about life without Matthew was more than she could bear.

 _He was what her dreams were made of._

Seeing him lying so still frightened her because she had seen him this way once before. Now she understood his tears when she opened her eyes after the train accident. Now she understood his anxiety about her morning sickness. She wasn't concerned that their wedding was three weeks away. She wasn't concerned that she might have to nurse him back to health—again. All that mattered was his recovery. He had to come back to her.

She continued to sit silently, and her attention moved from Matthew's face to his hands. His arms were outside the covers, his hands resting on his stomach. She leaned in and took his left hand into her grasp. Such strength. Such gentleness. How she loved it when he caressed her. She brought his palm to her lips, held it there for a moment, and then rested it against her cheek, relishing its warmth. She thought of all the times he had held her hand in his, all the times those now-still fingers pleasured her, all the times his grasp was enough to set her ablaze. She shook herself out of her reverie and placed his hand back on top of his other one, running her fingers across his knuckles before settling back into her chair.

A nurse padded softly into the room. "Lady Mary, it's quite late; you really should get some rest. Mrs. Crawley is staying in a room down the hall and has left instructions to be awakened if there are any changes. You have a cot in here. Why don't you have a lie down for a bit?"

"I will in a moment, thank you." She didn't have the strength to chastise the nurse and tell her she was tired of being told to rest. How many times had someone told her to lie down as if cajoling her would have any effect? No, her place was beside him. There would be plenty of time to rest later. After the nurse left the room, Mary sat up straighter, stretched her aching back, and picked up a book from the bedside table. "How about I read to you for a bit, my darling? Shall we see what Jay is up to now?" She opened the novel and began reading aloud, getting lost in Gatsby's world until she read:

" _His heart beat faster and faster as Daisy's white face came up to his own. He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips' touch she blossomed like a flower and the incarnation was complete."_

A chill ran through her veins as she stopped and re-read the words silently, her shoulders shaking as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

 _Oh, Matthew._

* * *

Lavender. He smelled lavender. And roses? Perhaps. No matter. The smell was comforting and seemed so familiar. Fuzzy images played about in his head, and he felt as if he were floating. Was he dreaming? Honeyed words were echoing around him, and although he couldn't make sense of them, they soothed him and bathed him in such a sense of well-being that he found himself struggling to speak when they stopped. _Why had they stopped?_ He worked his mouth only to find himself being told to open his eyes. That voice, that same soothing voice that had been floating around him, now was speaking directly to him. _Wait! Mary?_ Obeying was easier said than done, for his head seemed cotton-filled, his eyelids weighed down by some force he couldn't grasp. Still, her voice implored him; how could he refuse?

* * *

Mary held her breath as she watched his eyelashes sweep upward revealing eyes that struggled to focus. "There you are, my darling." He looked at her quizzically, and she responded with a relieved smile. "You're in hospital." He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked at her once again.

 _Thank God._

He raised his hand, and Mary grasped it in both of hers and kissed his knuckles. He saw her eyes brimming with tears and whispered hoarsely, "I mucked things up, didn't I?"

"Oh, Matthew, I was so frightened. How are you feeling? I should send for Doctor Clarkson." She rose, but he gripped her hand.

"Don't go. Stay with me," he implored.

"I'm not going anywhere, my love, but Clarkson should know you're awake."

"In a moment. I just want to get my bearings. Please." He tried to shift himself and groaned.

"Darling, please lie still. We don't know how much damage there is. That was some fall."

He gave a low chuckle and said, "Indeed. Falling hard seems to be my specialty, especially around you." He closed his eyes once again. His senses were starting to fire, and he realized moving was difficult. His head ached terribly, and he couldn't seem to focus his eyes. "You know, perhaps you should call Clarkson."

Mary sat up stiffly, and said in a cheerful voice that didn't reflect her concern, "Of course, darling. I'll be right back." She leaned over and brushed her lips against his, pausing briefly to caress his cheek. She then rushed out of the room, encountered a nurse, and said tersely, "Please find Doctor Clarkson and tell him Lord Grantham is conscious. Then wake Mrs. Crawley and inform her as well." She returned quickly to Matthew's bedside and found him struggling to move. "Wait, darling. Doctor Clarkson should be here in a moment. What can I do to help?"

"I'm going to be sick, Mary."

Mary grabbed the basin on the bedside table and helped Matthew as he struggled to sit up. After he vomited, he fell back onto the bed pillow and smiled grimly as Mary used a damp cloth to clean his lips and chin. "I remember the last time you had to do this."

Mary tried to mask the panic she felt. _Please, God, don't let this be a repeat of what he went through before._ "Hmm. Yes, that was long ago. I'm surprised you remember."

"Ha. That's not something I'd be likely to forget. Of course, your role as nurse will be different this time, I'm happy to say."

"I didn't love you any less then, you know."

"Nor I you. At least in this instance, there will be a happy ending."

Almost against her will, Mary's eyes swept down his body, stopping at his legs. There under the covers, she espied movement. Both of his feet stirred the bedclothes, and her eyes shot back to his face. His grin told her everything, and she breathed a shuddering sigh of relief.

* * *

Mary and Isobel stood in the hallway outside Matthew's room as Doctor Clarkson examined him. Despite Mary's and Isobel's protests, Matthew had insisted that the examination be done in private, but he promised they would be allowed back in the room once it was finished. After what seemed to be an interminable amount of time, the door opened, and Clarkson ushered them into the room. They both were surprised to see Matthew reclining against pillows rather than lying flat on his back.

The two women stood on either side of Matthew's bed, each of them holding one of his hands. "His back doesn't seem any the worse for wear," said Doctor Clarkson, "although he will have to take it easy for a while. There's some bruising, but not to the extent I expected." He didn't share his feeling that it was a miracle Matthew wasn't more seriously injured.

"What about his skull fracture?" asked Isobel. "Is that the cause of the nausea?"

"Yes, the nausea and the blurred vision and dizziness," said Clarkson. He looked slightly abashed when he noticed Matthew glowering at him.

"Blurred vision and dizziness? You didn't say anything about that, Matthew," said Mary fearfully. She reached back for the chair in which she had been sitting earlier and sat down.

"Darling, it's nothing to be alarmed about," said Matthew. He hadn't wanted her to worry and was peeved that Clarkson had disclosed he was suffering from more than nausea.

"Lady Mary, don't be too concerned. A fracture caused by the kind of blow he suffered is known to have some adverse effects. I'd say, all in all, he's a very lucky man considering his history."

"But, how long will he suffer these 'adverse effects'?" Mary felt herself suddenly overcome with tension.

"It's too early to say definitively, but I feel sure he'll make a full recovery. It's just going to take some time—weeks, possibly months."

"Would you excuse me for a moment, please?" All eyes were on Mary as she hurried from the room.

* * *

Her face covered by her trembling hands, Mary sat sobbing in an empty examination room. As Doctor Clarkson talked with Matthew, Isobel, and her, she began experiencing a myriad of emotions—relief, anger, grief, fear, love—until, finally, she thought she might burst apart. It was too much, hearing that, with time, Matthew would recover fully, and her mind flew back to her admonition when Matthew stepped onto the porch roof. _"Matthew, be careful. It's bound to be slippery…"_ He had grinned at her— _grinned !—_ and then her worst fear was realized. How could he have been so foolish? Everything had seemed so golden one moment and then almost had turned to ashes the next. She never would forget the sound of his body hitting the ground. She never would forget seeing his body lying motionless in the snow. All the pent up emotions she'd kept inside during her vigil came to the fore, and she couldn't keep still, couldn't hold in the feelings—so she ran, searching for somewhere to be alone. Thinking she would need just a moment to collect herself, Mary soon found she couldn't stop her tears once they started.

* * *

"Where do you think she's gone? Do you suppose she's all right?" Matthew was worried. Mary had left in such a hurry he hadn't had a chance to inquire about her well-being. He was certain she was upset about his accident and probably hadn't availed herself of the cot he knew was placed in his room for her, and she clearly was exhausted. "Would you check on her, please, Mother?"

"Of course." Isobel, too, was concerned about Mary. She knew Mary's pregnancy thus far had not been without some problems. Her morning sickness and backaches had worn on her, so Isobel was apprehensive that Mary's reaction to Matthew's accident might prove to be detrimental, as well. She strode down the hallway looking into doorways until she finally found her, her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Isobel walked to her and placed her hand on her back, saying, "Mary, my dear, you mustn't worry so. Matthew will recover, and all will be well."

"Oh, Isobel, I'm not worried about his recovery, truly. I just…I just am so relieved…and so very… _angry_ at him! When I think what could have happened…"

"But, Mary, it _didn't_ happen. You cannot get caught up in what might have been. It serves no purpose."

"But he took such a chance…such a foolish chance! What if he…? My God, we just found each other again and..." Her tears continued to flow, and she took Isobel's proffered handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

"Mary, you cannot dwell on this. Accidents happen every day—things happen over which we have no control. You, of all people, should realize this. When you stepped onto that train to London did you worry about what might happen?"

"That's different, Isobel," she sniffed and wiped her eyes.

"Is it? Matthew felt confident about fixing that shutter. Yes, he should have been more careful, but he didn't deliberately place himself in danger. It was an accident, Mary, nothing more."

"I'm just so angry at him, Isobel…"

"And that's all right, my dear. You can let him know that, but you also should let him know that you forgive him for his misstep. He'll feel guilty enough knowing he's caused you such grief. Now, he's asking for you. Can you collect yourself and go back to him?"

"Yes, give me a moment." She looked up at Isobel and smiled faintly. "How is it you've handled this so well?"

"I suppose it's because I've had more than my share of heartache and have learned not to obsess about what might have been. Facing things head-on allows me to focus on what needs to be done, not on what should have been done." She cupped Mary's chin in her hand. "But I'll let you in on a little secret: I'm furious at Matthew, too."

Mary laughed, wiped her eyes one last time, and stood, straightening her dress and smoothing her hair. "Thank you, Isobel, for everything. Talking with you helped."

"I'm glad, my dear. Now, it's time you had a rest. Matthew's worried about you, too." Isobel took Mary's arm, and they walked together back to the room where the man both women loved best in the world lay waiting anxiously for their return.

* * *

Matthew was dozing, comfortably settled in the oversized chair in the study, his feet propped on the ottoman, while Mary sat at the partners' desk. "We need to talk about the wedding," said Mary resolutely. Matthew opened his eyes and looked curiously at Mary, not sure he heard her correctly.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, you've only been home three days, and you still have trouble getting around. The wedding is less than three weeks away, so perhaps we ought to think about postponing it until you're completely recovered."

"Darling, I'll be fine by then. Besides, if I can make it up the stairs now, I certainly can stand still for the ceremony."

"Matthew, the only way you can climb the stairs is if Barrow and I are supporting either side of you."

"That's because you refuse to leave me to my own devices."

"I have no intention of standing idly by while there's a risk you might tumble down those stairs, thank you very much. Doctor Clarkson told us the bruising and soreness would take time to heal. And what of your dizzy spells and blurred vision?"

 _The man was impossible._

"The dizziness is much improved, and the only thing I'll need to see clearly that day is your beautiful face." Matthew was loath to admit it, but the aftereffects of his skull fracture frustrated him. Although the nausea had subsided, the blurred vision and dizziness remained, and he found himself reeling if he stood too quickly. His back also was terribly sore. Doctor Clarkson had assured him these things would improve with time, but he was impatient. He was determined to be well and whole by what he considered to be the most important day of his life.

"You know how anxious I am for the wedding, darling; it's just that if you're not well…"

"Mary, nothing will prevent this wedding from taking place on schedule. Please don't worry. Now, come and kiss me." He looked at her with eyes that sparkled with mischief, and his lopsided grin was too enticing for her to ignore.

Just as she reached his chair, he stood, took her into his arms, and kissed her fervently. "Dance with me."

"Matthew…" His passion and playfulness took her by surprise, and she found herself responding to him in spite of her reservations about his condition. "I'm still angry with you, you know."

He hummed as he began moving slowly across the floor, holding her close, pressing his body into hers. "I know you are. What can I do to earn your forgiveness?"

She leaned back from his hold and said firmly, "For one thing, you can promise never to climb onto high places in future."

"Very well. I promise." He continued humming, drew her to him again and continued moving, albeit gingerly. "What else?" he murmured into her ear.

Her left hand moved to the back of his neck, and her fingers played with his hair. "Well, I suppose you could promise to let me know when you're about to undertake any kind of strenuous activity."

He chuckled softly, the sound resonating in her chest. "Done. Anything else?" His left hand moved below her waist to her lower back. He stopped moving and began swaying while holding her tightly against him. He began humming against her neck.

"I don't know how you expect me to be able to think clearly while you're doing that, but if I think of something else, I'll let you know."

* * *

After she dismissed Stephens for the evening, Mary sat at her dressing table waiting for a suitable amount of time to pass before checking on Matthew as she had done every night since his return to the Abbey. Doctor Clarkson had supplied Matthew with some liniment for his back, and Mary had been applying it with some light massage twice a day. Matthew seemed delighted to have an excuse to feel the touch of her hands, but she took the task seriously and didn't allow him to distract her. As tempting as it was to take advantage of the situation, Matthew still was in a great deal of pain, and Mary made it clear she would do nothing to jeopardize his recovery.

She smiled at the memory of their impromptu dance that afternoon. They had taken advantage of Cora's visit to the Dower House and had spent the rest of the afternoon reclined on the library sofa, drinking tea and cuddling. She could tell he was feeling better every day, and despite her initial misgivings, he convinced her that their wedding could go ahead as planned.

Once Mary determined the hallway was clear, she re-tied the sash of her dressing gown, slipped out of her room, and walked toward Matthew's room. When she rapped softly on his door, to her surprise, he opened it and immediately took her into his arms.

"What are you doing?"

"Shhhh. I was just about to get into bed. Care to join me?" He cocked an eyebrow and playfully began nuzzling her neck. The room was lit with only the light from the fireplace, which caused shadows to play around the walls.

She wrestled herself away from him and said sternly, "Stop it, Matthew." He reached for her again. "I mean it. You're incorrigible! Now, where's the liniment?" It was all she could do to keep from laughing as he pouted at her response.

"My, you're a hardhearted caregiver. It's just where you suppose—on the table next to the bed. I've even readied the basin."

"Fine. Now, get on the bed and behave yourself."

"Yes, mi'lady. Whatever you say, mi'lady." He removed his shirt, and Mary, as always, was struck with the beautiful symmetry of his body. The width of his broad shoulders contrasted with the narrowness of his waist and hips, and his chest rippled as he stretched gingerly before he walked to the bed. She moved to turn on the bedside lamp, but he gripped her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth. "Don't," he whispered, "there's enough light."

Mary sat beside him as he lay flat on his stomach, his head resting on his forearms, and she poured some of the liniment into her hands. She rubbed her hands together and began at his neck and kneaded gently down to his shoulders just as Clarkson had instructed, paying special attention to areas that seemed particularly knotted. His skin glistened as she worked her way carefully down to the small of his back, adding liniment as needed, and then she followed the same path back up to his neck and down again. She struggled to contain the stirring within her, but having her hands on Matthew, no matter how therapeutic the act, was electrifying. As Mary continued the massage, Matthew's rhythmic breathing and occasional moans reflected the effectiveness of her efforts. She couldn't help smiling at one particularly loud moan of pleasure as she worked on a knot right above his waist near the scar that denoted his original injury. If she didn't stop the massage soon, she knew what it would lead to.

"All done," she announced more resolutely than she felt, and she stood to place the bottle of liniment back on the table and rinse her hands in the basin. She was drying her hands with a towel when Matthew sat up, pulled her down onto his lap, and planted a smoldering kiss on her lips that left her breathless. He moved his fingers roughly through her hair as his heated gaze bore into her, and she felt her heart skip a beat.

"Do you know how much I want you?"

"Matthew, I want you, too, but your back…"

"No _buts_ , Mary. I need this. _We_ need this." He ran his knuckle along her jaw, which caused her eyes to close. "I'm fine."

He kissed her again, and she felt herself resigning to his desires. Her eyes narrowed, and she scrutinized his face. "You're _not_ fine, and you know it." She leaned into him and said softly, "But how about if you let _me_ make love to _you_?" The arch of his eyebrows communicated his answer, so she stood and untied her dressing gown's sash and allowed the garment to fall to the floor. Her hands went to his shoulders, and she pressed him backwards until his head was resting on one of the feather pillows. His hooded eyes darkened and the corners of his mouth twitched and rose until his wicked smile relayed his acquiescence to her request.

He watched as she walked to the foot of the bed and pushed the silken straps of her nightgown down her shoulders, which caused it to fall silently to the floor. The firelight leaped across her body, and he noticed her breasts seemed fuller, the nipples now a dusky pink instead of rose hued—signifying the progress of her pregnancy. His eyes moved to her round belly, certainly more pronounced when bared as opposed to when she managed to conceal it with clothing.

 _She was the most magnificent creature he'd ever seen._

He knew already her appetite for sex was more pronounced because of the pregnancy, and she was more sensitive to his touch, as well. Nothing made him happier than fulfilling her needs. He was thankful his bed had no footboard because it afforded her the opportunity to crawl onto the bed towards him sultrily—more feline than human in his mind—until she loomed over him, her hands and knees on either side of his body, her eyes dark with desire. She leaned down and kissed him, her soft lips gently moving from one side of his mouth to the other until, at last, the tip of her tongue teased his mouth open, and their tongues began to tangle and sweep, both relishing the sweetness and heat of their mouths. His hands rolled her taut nipples between his fingers, causing her to breathe his name in a series of whispered incantations that seemed to emanate from her very soul. He ran his hands up her arms and down to her waist and brought her body further up the bed until he was able to press his lips alternately to each nipple. The tenderness of her breasts as Matthew continued to suckle became a kind of pleasing pain, and Mary's back arched with pleasure when one of his hands found her center and felt the wetness there. His hands moved to the backs of her thighs, and he began to pull her body further forward.

"I want to taste you. Please, Mary."

Although she nearly was overcome with need, this request came as a surprise. It wasn't as if she didn't enjoy his mouth on her—lord knows it always sent her flying—but the idea of hovering over him while he feasted on her gave her pause. It felt wanton, immodest, hedonistic, but most of all deliciously shameless, so she allowed him to pull her forward, and she found herself, knees apart, balanced directly over his mouth. His tongue and teeth played with her, and she resisted the urge to grind herself into his face. Instead she gripped the headboard and was lost in the sensations his mouth on her sex created. He sucked and licked and nibbled, and when his tongue entered her, she soared into the atmosphere, crying out for him never to stop, not quite sure if she ever would alight. His hands caressed her quivering body, running up and down her torso, massaging, tweaking, exploring until, finally, satisfied that she was sated, he helped her move backwards.

Still straddling him, she leaned forward and gently rubbed her nose against his, and their lips brushed before she rose to her knees and slowly, gradually lowered her hips and settled on top of him. They groaned in unison as he filled her.

"Don't move," she whispered, "let me."

He stilled, filling her to the hilt, his hands on her waist, and she began to undulate on top of him, manipulating her hips, first moving sideways then up and down. He took her hands in his and watched her breasts rise as her head fell back in ecstasy; he felt her velvety wetness and throbbing core as she slid up and down on him, yet he continued to lie still, lost in the rhythmic surges and the sensations her urgent movements created.

She was in command.

No dance could have been choreographed better.

"Come for me, Mary!" he roared.

"Yessssss," she shrieked, unable to keep at bay the intense pulsations within her.

Suddenly, a wave rode through each of them with enormous intensity, and they cried out each other's names.

A fine sheen of sweat covered both of their bodies as she lifted herself from him and positioned herself alongside his quaking body, her hand over his heart. For several minutes, they basked in the afterglow of their lovemaking until he finally spoke…

"That was amazing, Mary. Thank you." He took her chin in his hand and kissed her tenderly.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "It wasn't too much?" As zealously as she enjoyed the tryst, she found herself rather embarrassed at how wantonly she had acted.

"It was perfect. _You_ are perfect. I rather like your taking charge and looking out for me."

She laughed softly and said, "It seemed somewhat self-indulgent, but I liked it, too."

"Trust me," he said, his hand running over the silken skin of her back, "I feel indulged and quite satisfied, contrary to what you might believe."

"Mmmm. That's good, then."

They nestled into the covers.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice drowsy with sleep.

"I love you, too, my darling," she replied, as she curled herself into his side.

Both of them awash with love, they settled into a deep slumber.


	34. Chapter 34

Mary stood in the hallway outside Carson's office for a few minutes before finally knocking softly on his door. When she entered at his response to her knock, he stood immediately.

Mary smiled at his gentility. "Please. Sit. I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"You never could disturb me, mi'lady. How may I be of service?"

She looked around the office and thought to herself that it hadn't changed a whit in the almost thirty years he had occupied it. "Well, Carson, I have a rather special request. I hope you'll be able to help me."

"Of course, mi'lady. It would be my pleasure. Please, have a seat."

Mary smiled, remembering all the times she had sat primly on the well-worn, ladder-back chair in front of Carson's desk. "Thank you. You might want to wait until you hear what the favor is before you agree."

Carson looked at her fondly. There was no request of hers he would refuse to grant. "Very well. What can I do for you?"

Mary looked down at her hands and cleared her throat. This was going to be more difficult than she'd imagined. "As you are aware, we've tried to keep things simple with the wedding since it will be here at the Abbey. I mean, Matthew and I…don't want…we don't want a lot of pomp…and circumstance. I hope we've made that clear."

"Yes, mi'lady. Sometimes the simplest things are the most beautiful…and meaningful."

Mary laughed ruefully. "Precisely." She wished her mama understood that. "However, I seem to have overlooked one important element, and this is why I've come to you." She picked at an imaginary piece of lint on her skirt.

 _Reticent_ was not a word Carson normally would associate with Lady Mary, so he was at a loss as to what might cause her to be so reserved. "I'll do whatever I can, mi'lady."

She looked into the kindest eyes she'd ever known and said, "That's what I'm counting on, Carson. You see…with Papa gone…I need…I need someone to walk me down the aisle—at least part of the way."

He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his desk, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth. "Oh, I see. And you would like me to suggest someone?"

"Not exactly." She paused for a moment, and her eyes filled with tears as she looked at him. "I'd like you to do it."

If she had shot him right between the eyes, Carson couldn't have been more surprised. "Me, mi'lady?"

She looked at him hopefully. "Yes, Carson, _you_. It would mean the world to me. After all, you brought me up."

He fought to control the emotion he felt building in his chest and replied in a voice rife with dignity, "I hardly know what to say, mi'lady, other than it would be my great honor."

Mary breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Carson. I'd hoped you would agree to do it."

"You never should have doubted, mi'lady."

Mary laughed, "Well, you still have a week to change your mind."

"That never will happen. You can count on me."

"As I always can, Carson." She stood and looked around the office one more time. "I always felt so safe and welcome in here."

"And you always will be, mi'lady." He came around his desk to walk her to the door.

"Thank you, Carson." Mary reached up on her tiptoes and kissed Carson on the cheek. "For everything."

Left alone in his office, Carson pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes.

* * *

The laughter around the Dower House dining table during the Christmas Eve luncheon made Violet smile in spite of herself. She traditionally held a luncheon prior to every Crawley wedding to bring together the distaff side of the family, and she planned this one with care, knowing it likely would be the last over which she presided. _This one was worth waiting for_ , she thought to herself, and she watched with pleasure as a glowing Mary shared details of the wedding with the other women at the table. Although she never would admit it to anyone, Violet had worried about Mary's well-being for years, especially since her own daughter had given Mary the means of escape from Downton after Matthew married Lavinia. She understood why Mary jumped at the chance to leave Downton, but it didn't lessen the pain of having to watch her turn her back on the man who possessed her heart. She knew her favorite granddaughter's cold and careful façade had been a means of self-protection, and now that all was right with the world, Violet couldn't help but be satisfied that things were as they should have been all along.

"Granny, you're awfully quiet," said Sybil, wiping her mouth on her napkin. "Don't you agree that Matthew ought to tell Mary where they're going on honeymoon?"

"A little mystery adds spice to a marriage," replied Violet. "Far be it from me to criticize a man who chooses to keep a secret—as long as he reveals it eventually."

"Well, I don't know why he's being so guarded," said Isobel. "I haven't been able to get a word out of him on the subject."

"Really, Isobel? Imagine that—he won't talk to his own mother about his plans for his honeymoon," snorted Violet.

Isobel reddened. "I only mean that he's been so close-mouthed, even with me. It just isn't like him."

"We'll find out soon enough, I daresay," replied Violet. "You'd do well to keep your nose out of his business. He no longer needs your approval for the decisions he makes."

Isobel was about to retort when Mary said earnestly, "I have a feeling wherever we are going, I'll be perfectly content. It will be rather exciting traveling to an unknown location."

"And isn't that what marriage is?" commented Cora. "Each day is a new adventure." She looked at Mary fondly, remembering her own excitement and trepidation when she was a young bride. Seeing Mary so happy—all three of her daughters so happy, for that matter—filled her with the greatest sense of fulfillment she'd ever known, and for a moment, her eyes filled with tears. How she wished the love of her life were there to share her happiness.

"Yes," added Edith, "as much as I always wanted to be married, I never realized just how marvelous sharing my life with someone could be. Mama's right, Mary, it truly is an adventure although you certainly appear to have gotten a head start on the journey."

There was stifled laughter around the table as Mary stiffened, blushed, and instinctively placed her hand on her belly.

Violet's eyes flashed. "It would behoove you to avoid making those kinds of comments, my dear. As I recall, we said nothing about Caroline's being an eighth-month baby."

Edith blanched as all eyes focused on her in amazement.

Mary looked at Violet gratefully. _Leave it to Granny to set things right._

"Oh, my God," gasped Sybil, her laughter causing her to bounce in her chair. "Edith, did you _really_ …? I'll never be able to look Anthony in the face again! And, ladies, I want to state for the record that Saiorse was born eleven months _after_ Tom and I married, so there!"

* * *

Christmas Day dawned clear and bright, and after the morning's festivities, Matthew and Mary donned coats, hats, and scarves and walked hand-in-hand across the east lawn toward one of the follies, their frosted breaths billowing in the crisp air. Braced against one of the pillars of the Etruscan "temple," Matthew wrapped Mary in his arms, her back to his chest. They stood silently, gazing over the grounds back towards the house.

"It's almost too much for words, isn't it?" queried Mary, quite overcome with the beauty of the house against the barren winter landscape. As much as she loved the green seasons, Mary found herself entranced by the grounds' starkness.

"It is, indeed. I can't tell you what it means knowing we'll be able to enjoy this for the rest of our lives," replied Matthew. He brought his face down to hers and nuzzled her cheek, planting a kiss there.

"The house has seen so many moments of Crawley history…"

"And many more to come."

"Yes, so we must be good stewards."

"And so we will be…we must be for our children." His hands came down and cradled her stomach, and her hands covered his. They stood motionless, each lost in thought, until he turned her in his arms and looked down at her, his eyes gleaming. "I never believed this kind of happiness was possible—having you, loving you, and now a child—it means everything to me."

Mary cupped his cheeks with her gloved hands and said, "For years I was resigned to what I thought was my fate—being alone and unloved and having lost you forever. It's funny how quickly things change; when you least expect them, miracles _can_ happen. I was so desperately lost before, and now…"

"Now we're together as we were meant to be from the first." Matthew grinned and swung Mary around despite his aching back, leaving her breathless. "My God, Mary, three days… _three days_ until we officially begin our lives together!"

"So, you still want to marry me, eh?" Mary laughed as she straightened his scarf and pushed a lock of hair from his forehead.

He rolled his eyes and chuckled. "I suppose. I mean, we _have_ seen each other naked, so marriage seems to be the next logical step." His arms went around her waist, and he pulled her toward him.

She grabbed his lapels and brought his face to hers. "I should say so, sir. Don't even think about jilting me!"

"Not a chance. Wednesday can't get here fast enough. I feel as if I'm living in limbo until then."

Mary settled into Matthew's embrace. "Me, too, but there's still quite a bit to do. Preparing for a holiday and for a wedding has proved to be quite an undertaking."

"Mary, I hope you haven't overtaxed yourself." Matthew knew she had spread herself thin taking care of him while making last-minute decisions about the wedding. He had done what he could to help but had been told in no uncertain terms that his assistance was not needed. He resigned himself to watching from the sidelines as the Abbey's great hall was transformed into an elegant wedding venue.

"Not at all. Mama and Isobel have been so helpful. And having Sybil here has been a blessing. She's positively taken over the reception arrangements. Even Edith has been obliging and has assumed responsibility for the flowers, so don't worry. I'm fine. All that's left is the final fitting of my gown. Coco's assistant will be here tomorrow. Once that's done, all that will be left is the waiting."

"That's my least favorite part of these preparations." He began to trail kisses from her jaw down her neck.

"Mine, too, but after Wednesday, all things will be permitted, remember."

His lips found her ear, sending chills through them both. "Hmmm. That's the only thing that keeps me sane. The next couple of nights will have to suffice."

Mary smirked, "Yes, as long as you remember I'm off-limits Tuesday night."

Matthew continued to attack her neck, muttering, "Ridiculous custom."

"You and Grandmama would have gotten along famously."

"She was Cora's mother, right? The American?"

"Oh, yes. And she never let us forget it. She fancied herself a 'modern.' There was no one else like her."

"Well, if she thought our being separated the night before the wedding to be a preposterous idea, I'm sure we would have hit it off famously."

"Nevertheless, it's an idea that we will honor. I'm not willing to risk any bad luck. You and Tom will be perfectly fine at the Grantham Arms."

"I suppose," he pouted, "but somehow being forced out of my own home for the sake of some silly tradition seems rather unfair."

"Matthew, we've talked about this…"

"I know. I know. It doesn't mean I have to like it although I will be glad to have Tom's company."

Despite their geographic separation, Matthew considered Tom his best friend, their brotherhood fostered by their love of the two Crawley sisters. Through the years Matthew watched enviously as Tom and Sybil's marriage became stronger while his own marriage floundered. Every time Tom and Sybil visited Downton, seeing the strength of their devotion added to Matthew's own heartache, but he never resented their happiness. Now that Tom was back at Downton for the wedding, however, Matthew could think of no one else he'd rather have serve as his best man.

For his part, Tom knew Matthew had married the wrong woman, but he never passed judgment on his friend's choice, as wrongheaded as he felt it was. His main regret was that his friend might never know the joys being married to his soulmate. Each time he and Sybil had visited the Abbey, he and Matthew would sit alone and have late-night, whisky-fueled discussions that usually ended with his listening to Matthew pour out his regrets. Tom only offered advice when asked and never shared Matthew's confidences with anyone, including Sybil. He was never as delighted as when Sybil had shared Mary's letter with him telling of her engagement to Matthew, and when they arrived earlier in the week for the wedding, he saw clearly that Matthew was a changed man. He never had seen him so happy.

* * *

Sabine Mercier had traveled from Paris with precious cargo, and when she finally arrived at Downton Abbey on Monday afternoon with trunks filled with Mary's wedding trousseau, she breathed a sigh of relief. Coco had informed her in no uncertain terms that Lady Mary Crawley, soon to be the Countess of Grantham, was a valued client, worthy of the trouble it took Sabine to travel such a distance. Sabine hoped the woman who necessitated her departure from Paris on Christmas afternoon was worth the effort. She had not been present at Mary's initial garment selection and fittings, so she was more than a little curious about the woman who could elicit such mandates from the designer.

To Sabine's surprise, Lady Mary was more than gracious. In fact, she found herself greeted warmly by all the Crawley women—well, all except the woman who obviously was the family's matriarch. She was an intimidating _vieux corbeau_ , sitting on a straight-backed chair, her hands propped on an ebony cane, her mouth in a straight line from which emerged no syllable of welcome. Sabine imagined there was a very good chance Coco would resemble that woman someday, so intimidating was her persona, but as Lady Mary began modeling the garments, Sabine noticed the woman's gaze soften. It was obvious the young woman occupied a special place in the old woman's heart.

In an upstairs bedroom set aside for the fittings, Sabine had set out her sewing kit—a ponderously-large basket filled with every conceivable color and type of thread, along with needles, pins, fasteners, beeswax, tailor's chalk, and other accoutrements—and prepared to make alterations as necessary. The trunks were opened to reveal ensembles composed of silk garments—chiffon, velvet, taffeta, satin, and crepe—accompanied by coordinating wraps, sweaters, scarves, and handbags. Chemises and column dresses hung around the room like sails from a mast, and the formalwear was stunning in its variety. The room was aglow with color. Sequined gowns were embraced by embroidered shawls, and the women's eyes grew wide as they moved about the room gazing at the treasure trove of fashion at their fingertips.

One trunk's contents in particular proved to be the most intriguing—the lingerie inside took the women's collective breath away—and Sybil remarked that if it weren't for the fact that Mary already was with child when she left on honeymoon, she certainly would have been when she returned. Cora opened her mouth to admonish her youngest daughter for making such an unfiltered statement, but one look inside the trunk convinced her that Sybil wasn't wrong. Nightgowns and undergarments looked as if they might melt in the heat of the admirers' hands, so exquisite were the fabrics. The news of Mary's pregnancy gave Sabine pause, for there wasn't a lot of time for her to complete any necessary alterations; however, she was relieved to see that Mary's lithe figure revealed only a small bump that most likely would be accommodated by the clothing styles.

Finally, Sabine lifted the pièce de résistance from a large white box labeled with Coco's distinctive initials—Mary's wedding gown. A gasp went up around the room as the pearl-white, silk organza confection was revealed, the delicate lace overlay flowing down from the shoulders in wispy tiers that seemed cloud-like as they billowed softly about the gown.

"Magnificent," said Violet.

"Perfect," added Cora.

"Oh, Mary," whispered Isobel.

Sybil and Edith were struck dumb.

Mary simply smiled.

Once Mary had slipped into the dress, Sabine looked carefully with a practiced eye and pronounced that only a slight modification would be needed around the gown's midsection, saying the alteration could be made _très facilement._ She breathed a sigh of relief. The alterations would take her no more than a few hours, which meant she would be able to return to Paris the following day. As Mary stood still while Sabine fluttered around her, there came a knock on the door.

"Wait! Who is it?" called Sybil, standing by the door before unlocking it.

"It's Anna," replied a familiar voice. Sybil opened the door, and Anna popped in quickly, closing it behind her. "I'm so sorry I'm late. One of our departing guests left quite a mess, and I…oh, my goodness! How perfectly beautiful you look, mi'l…I mean, Mary."

"Thank you, Anna. I just was about to try on the veil with the tiara."

Anna sat uneasily on a chair next to Sybil, who smiled broadly and patted the former maid's hand. She knew Anna's being there might be considered rather unusual, but she was glad her sister had included her, knowing how fond Anna was of her former mistress. For her part, Mary had insisted to a protesting Cora that Anna, of all people, should be included in the merriment, reminding her of Anna's discretion and loyalty through the years. "I shouldn't need to remind you, Mama, of all she has done for me in the past," she said stiffly in response to Cora's inquiry as to why Mary had requested Anna's presence. Remembering a particularly nightmarish evening from long ago, Cora promptly closed her mouth, and accepted Mary's explanation without further comment.

* * *

On Monday evening after everyone else had retired, Matthew and Mary sat together on the sitting room sofa, his back supported by a plumped-up cushion, her head resting on his shoulder. His recovery during the past three weeks had been slow but steady—his dizziness had all but disappeared and his vision only was mildly hampered by fatigue at the end of the day. His back almost was back to normal, but he had convinced Mary that her massages were necessary to keep the achiness at bay. She had caught on to his ploy, but since she enjoyed the intimacy of their time together, she happily continued that nightly ritual.

Matthew's hand moved up and down Mary's arm, and she nestled further into his chest, her arm lying across his waist. The dying fire threw the last of its shadows on the walls, and the room was beginning to take on the chill of the late-December evening.

"Do you suppose the coast is clear?" Matthew whispered into her hair. He was impatient to get upstairs because the Abbey's other inhabitants had made a late night of it, Sybil and Tom only recently having retired for the evening. The two couples and Cora had stayed up later than usual because Violet and Isobel had come for dinner and had remained late into the evening.

Mary laughed softly. "Why? Are you so eager for your massage?"

Matthew embraced Mary tenderly and relished the lavender scent emanating from her hair. "I thought we might forgo the massage tonight."

"Oh, really?" she joshed. "Your back is so much better, then? Fine. I'll be able to go to bed as soon as I change then?"

"Not exactly, my love."

"Hmmm. What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that this is the last night we can be together before we're married, and I like the idea of having one last tryst as a single man." He released her from his grasp and stood, held out his hand to her, and grinned lasciviously, "Come with me, mi'lady."

The look on Matthew's face set Mary's heart knocking into her chest, and her face flushed in anticipation of their assignation. "Gladly, sir," she replied.

* * *

Nightwear littered the floor of Matthew's room, bits and pieces scattered about, the result of a frenzied coming together of two people, each of whom was desperate for the touch of the other. Mouths were ravenous, hands were predatory, and bodies were greedy as the two lovers lurched and writhed in a frantic, erotic dance around the room. Anyone outside in the hallway might have thought the pounding coming from the inside of the bedroom door meant someone was seeking escape, but the source of the sound was Matthew's head repeatedly knocking against the door as Mary sucked and licked and nibbled him into oblivion. As she wiped her mouth and looked up at him wantonly, he suddenly reached down and threw her over his shoulder, smacking her behind and throwing her onto the bed. She rose to her knees quickly as he joined her, one of his hands moving between her legs and manipulating the wetness there.

The roaring flames from the fireplace were matched by the intensity of their lust.

"So good," she panted, and he continued to press his fingers against her as his mouth ravaged her breasts. She positioned her elbows on top of his shoulders, threw her head back, and grabbed his hair as two of his fingers entered her, flexing into a "come hither" motion and causing her to explode into his hand. She fell back onto the bed, and he moved his mouth to her inner thighs and ran his tongue across and up her flesh until her reached her center. She cried out "Please!" as his tongue continued to tease the outlying areas of her sex. She grabbed his hair and pulled him into her as she bucked against his unrelenting torment. He knew she wanted his tongue on the source responsible for her release and deliberately taunted her as she keened and begged. Her frenzied pleas finally were answered when he pressed his tongue to her and sucked until he felt her quake uncontrollably and heard her cries.

He scrambled up her body and kissed her until they both were gasping, reaching for air. "Time to slow things down a bit, my love," he moaned into her ear, his mouth moving to her neck. Slowly, maddeningly, he began kissing and caressing her body, his mouth and hands gliding over her sweat-drenched skin—she was acutely aware of

his mouth on her throat,

his hands on her breasts,

his lips on her belly,

his fingers between her legs,

his body pressed against hers as she rippled and surged and rose and fell.

She grasped his arms, feeling the muscles as they flexed; she swiveled her hips against his; her fingers danced a path along the middle of his back from neck to hip and back again, finally finding purchase in the golden silk of his hair. Her need for him was insatiable.

Matthew raised himself on his hands and hovered over her—their eyes linked, their mouths opened, their breathing hitched. Mary reached down and grasped him and led him to her center. Slowly…maddeningly…smoothly…sublimely he entered her, her inner muscles clenching, throbbing, pulsing as he began to thrust…thrust…thrust…until they both were lost in the rush of sensations that made them one. "Myyyyy Goddddd," she moaned as he picked up the pace, and she scissored her legs around his hips. "I feel…I feel…ohhhh," she cried just before his mouth covered hers.

It was a thrill ride, a shattering wave that washed over them, that caused them to tumble and explode, that caused their bodies to disappear and shatter like so many pieces of the universe sent tumbling through space. "I love you," they said in unison, both of them spent, exhausted, euphoric, fragmented…yet _whole, one_.

"I'll miss you tomorrow night," Matthew whispered into her hair as his hand went to her breast.

"So much," she replied with a moan.

* * *

The transformation of the Abbey's Great Hall was complete. Urns filled with trailing greenery and roses had been placed in a double row down the hall, creating an aisle that led to a semi-circular area covered by a metal arch through which had been woven the same floral decorations. Between the urns stood tall candlesticks on which stood thick, white tapers, ready to be lighted before the ceremony. Mary and Sybil walked down the stairway together and stopped at the landing. Mary grasped Sybil's hand, and the sisters stood together, each transfixed by the scene below.

"Can you believe it?" whispered Mary.

"Yes," replied Sybil softly.

"It's what I always dreamed of."

"I know."

"It's just so…so overwhelming."

Sybil turned to her sister and clasped Mary's hand in both of hers. "Mary, I might have had a wild, runaway marriage, but yours is the one everyone wanted. What's so thrilling is this is every bit as romantic—actually, more so because you both were destined to be together from the start and had to overcome so much to reach this moment."

"Oh, Sybil, my heart is so full of love for him, I can hardly bear it. How will I ever get through the ceremony tomorrow?"

"It's simple. You'll look in his eyes, see the love there, and promise to love him forever."

"That I will."

Just as the sisters touched foreheads, the front door opened, and they turned to see Edith walking in briskly. She stopped when she saw her sisters and waved cheerfully. "Hello, you two. Oh, everything looks wonderful! Do we have time for some tea before the rehearsal?"

"Of course. Mama, Granny, and Isobel are waiting for us," replied Mary, and she and Sybil bounded down the stairs. Once they reached Edith, the three women stood briefly with their arms around each other's waists. "I can't thank you both enough for your help. I couldn't have handled it all without you," said Mary, her voice filled with emotion.

"Well, it would have been wonderful with or without us, but it's nice of you to say so," said Edith. "After all, you're getting money and position in one handsome package. What else could you need?" The sisters laughed gaily at Edith's remark, knowing full well Mary's love for Matthew surpassed such a simple description. Edith paused and looked around. "Speaking of Matthew, where is he?"

"Oh, he and Tom are outside somewhere." Sybil scoffed, "No doubt Tom's imparting some last-minute advice about married life, as if he knows anything about it." She leaned in and added conspiratorially, "But, judging from the noises coming from Matthew's room the last few nights, I'd say he's giving Mary more than money and a title."

"Sybil!" shrieked a red-faced Mary. "Oh, my God!"

Their laughter and exclamations echoing through the hall, the three sisters walked arm-in-arm toward the sitting room.

Tomorrow was going to be a glorious day.


	35. Chapter 35

_The day we've waited for..._

* * *

Mary sat up in bed and stretched languidly. _I'm marrying Matthew today_ , she thought with a smile. She brought one knee up to her chest and rested her chin on her hands. Turning her head to the side, she looked over at her wedding gown, which was hanging from the top edge of her open closet door. If brides were supposed to be princesses, she certainly would feel like one today in that beautiful gown. Squinting her eyes a little, she peered at the bottom tier of lace. _Is that a spot? For heaven's sake!_ Just as she was about to ring for Stephens, she noticed that the spot appeared to move. _What is that?_ Throwing back the covers, she moved slowly toward the gown and bent over to take a close look at it. She grinned. A small spider was creeping its way across the delicate lace tier. Her granny had told her that old folklore held to the notion finding a spider on a wedding dress was a good omen. _Hmmmm,_ she thought to herself, _far be it from me to risk going against a superstition._ She left the spider alone but resolved to check the dress carefully before donning it for the ceremony.

She walked to the window, moved back the sheer curtain, and looked out. The day was clear and bright— _a perfect day for a perfect wedding_. The sunlight on the frosty ice crystals that covered the grounds and trees looked as if a shimmering net had been tossed over the landscape. _Diamonds…it looks as if diamonds are dotting the countryside._ She looked down at her ring. It always amazed her that Matthew had chosen the perfect symbol to represent their love. She loved the simplicity of the setting and knew the platinum wedding band with its channel-set sapphires would enhance its beauty. She hadn't told Matthew that her insistence on sapphires rather than diamonds was because the blue stones reminded her of his eyes. _I'll have him with me for the rest of my life._ She stood gazing out the window and turned when she heard a knock on her door. Before she could respond, it flew open and in walked Sybil carrying a tray loaded with baked goods, fruit, coffee, and juices. A teapot and teacup sat perilously close to the edge.

"Your breakfast, mi'lady," Sybil said with a smile as she balanced the tray precariously. "The bride deserves breakfast in bed. Go on. Hop in."

"Sybil, you shouldn't…"

"Oh, posh. I told Stephens to get some rest before the frenzy begins. Besides, it's the last time we'll be able to have breakfast together for a while. Now, sit!"

Mary obeyed and sat cross-legged on the bed. She patted the duvet, and Sybil plopped down, keeping a wary eye on the tray as its contents slid across the shining surface. Finally, sure nothing would tumble off, she set the tray down on the bed and promptly snatched a croissant.

"Yum," Sybil moaned, "how I've missed these! Do you suppose I could convince Mrs. Patmore to pack up a gross for me to take home?"

"Actually, you'll have to approach Daisy. She's taken over all the baking duties."

"Really? I had no idea."

"Yes. As a matter of fact, she's made the wedding cake. From what I can tell, she's become quite the baker."

"She certainly has," remarked Sybil, her mouth full of the buttery goodness. "Now, eat up. You'll need all your strength to get through today, starting with a solid breakfast since you're not having a wedding breakfast."

"Don't remind me. Granny's still upset we've eschewed that tradition. But I'll need a moment before I start on any of that." Mary reached over to her side table, took a salted biscuit from a tin, and began to munch. "I've found these help with morning sickness, along with ginger tea."

"I wondered why Mrs. Patmore included the teapot at the last minute. You know, I never had morning sickness with any of my pregnancies. Is it awful?"

"Yes, it is, so consider yourself lucky," groaned Mary. "Mine seems to have lessened a bit, but I still feel a little unsteady in the morning."

"Well, I may have been lucky in that department, but my arse is twice as big as it used to be, so there's that. Tom doesn't seem to mind, but I wish I could lose some of the poundage I've gained." She eyed Mary's slim frame enviously. "I suspect you won't have that problem."

"Don't speak too soon. It's still early days."

"Humph, with your luck, you'll be back down to size a month after the baby's born."

The two sisters talked happily while grazing on the fruit and pastries, recalling the times they sat in Mary's bed as girls. With Sybil living in Ireland, the women had little chance to share confidences, so her being in Downton the week before Mary's wedding had provided them with several opportunities to catch up.

"So, you're feeling well?" asked Sybil seriously. "No other problems?"

"Not really. No. I mean I still have a nagging backache, but that seems to be it." She looked down and rubbed her belly. "Oh, but I do have a question before you put away your nurse's cap. When might I start feeling the baby move?"

"When are you due?"

"At first Doctor Clarkson said mid-July, but now he thinks mid-June."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Well, probably anytime now, but the kicks won't start in earnest until you're around twenty weeks or so. In the meantime, you may feel what I call 'flutterings' in your belly. I've heard some women say it feels like champagne bubbles. For me, it felt more like butterfly wings." Mary's eyes grew large, and Sybil was quick to reassure her. "Oh, it's not unpleasant at all. In fact, it should reassure you that all is well. The little human just is making his or her presence known."

"That's good to know." Mary breathed a sigh of relief. During the past few weeks, she realized just how little she knew about pregnancy. Anna and Sybil were proving to be treasure troves of information. "Um…there's something else I'd like to ask…" Mary's face reddened. "Anna said I'd be more…interested…in…in…"

"Sex?" Sybil grinned as she completed Mary's sentence and took another bite of the croissant.

"Yes." She giggled uncomfortably. "Matthew says I'm insatiable, but he doesn't seem to mind."

"All I can say about that is Tom was a very happy man during all three of my pregnancies. Mary, I promise, I was quite overcome with desire _all the time!_ It's perfectly normal. Enjoy it." She laughed as Mary's blush reappeared.

"Anna said it was safe. Is that right?"

"It is as long as you're not uncomfortable. Don't you dare tell anyone, but the morning before Deaglan was born…"

"Sybil! Please, I don't need to hear any more." Mary fell forward onto the bed, and she and Sybil laughed until tears began to roll down their cheeks.

* * *

Mary sat quietly at her dressing table, freshly bathed and flushed with excitement. She waited patiently while Stephens left the room to run a quick errand back to the bath. Mary looked around the room and realized it was the last time she would get dressed in her bedroom, for she and Matthew would return to their new accommodations after the honeymoon. She felt a pang of sadness, but it quickly was replaced with the happy realization that she would be sharing a new chamber with Matthew. They had chosen her grandparents' original bedroom, an enormous, high-ceilinged chamber that looked out upon the east lawn. It was in the process of being updated, its dove-grey walls refreshed with a new coat of paint. Matthew had added an en suite bath and two dressing rooms when the Abbey's plumbing was being refurbished, and the dingy carpet also had been replaced. They had ordered new furniture along with new linens, so they would reside in a completely-renovated suite that reflected both their tastes. She could not resist smiling at the notion of Matthew and her beginning their lives together in such opulent splendor.

She was whisked back to reality by a knock at her door. _Odd_ , she thought, for there was no need for Stephens to knock, and she knew her mama and Sybil were dressing. "Come in," she called, and as she turned around, she saw a familiar face peek around the door. Tears came to her eyes immediately, for it was someone she'd missed so very much during her self-imposed exile in London.

"Are you ready to dress, mi'lady?" asked Anna, grinning with mirth.

"Oh, Anna, what are you doing?" whispered Mary.

"You don't suppose I'd let anyone else dress you or touch your hair on the biggest day of your life, do you?" She curtseyed and said, "I'm here at your service, Mary."

Mary stood as Anna approached, and the two women embraced tightly, both of them by this time in tears. Laughing, Mary said, "What a lovely surprise. I can't tell you how much this means to me. Is Stephens awfully put out that you've usurped her?"

"Oh, she's assisting Sybil with the understanding that I wasn't putting her out of a job. Besides, she gets to go on honeymoon with you."

"Ah, actually, she isn't going."

Anna's brows rose in surprise. "Really? You'll manage on your own?"

"Don't look so surprised. Clothes aren't nearly as complicated these days, and my hair doesn't normally need a lot of attention. Stephens would be superfluous to my needs. Besides," she blushed slightly and lowered her voice, "I'll have Matthew to manage buttons and such. So, tell me, how did you manage to convince her to step aside?"

"I didn't have to. I approached Sybil earlier this week, and she got on board immediately and arranged it. She can be quite persuasive when she has to be. Now, let's get started on your hair."

* * *

Once Mary was dressed in her finery, she turned from the mirror, and the room was filled with sighs and whispers. Never had she felt more beautiful or more loved. Cora approached her holding a tiny box wrapped in white paper. Mary looked at her quizzically and asked, "What's this, Mama?"

"Open it," Cora said softly.

With shaking hands Mary tore away the paper and opened the box, revealing a shiny silver sixpence. "Mama?"

"It's from your papa, Mary. He had one for each of his girls. This was the last. How he would have loved to have placed it in your left shoe. As it is, I think his surrogate will suffice," she said wistfully. She walked to the bedroom door and called Carson's name. When he appeared at the door, she said to him, "It's time."

Carson cleared his throat, and his face reddened as he entered to face a roomful of Crawley women. He stopped in his tracks when Mary approached. She was a vision in white.

"Will I do, Carson?"

"You've never looked lovelier, mi'lady."

"Oh, Carson, I think we can forego _mi'lady_ today, don't you? Please, just for today, call me _Mary_ , won't you?"

"I…um…er…I suppose just this once…and…since a bride should be denied nothing on her wedding day. Very well. You've never looked lovelier…Mary."

"Thank you, Carson. Now, I believe you have a job to do." She handed him the sixpence and raised her skirt to reveal her left foot. She lifted her heel as he bent over and placed the coin in her shoe.

"May you and Lord Grantham have a wealth of happiness and joy," said Carson, his voice breaking with emotion. There wasn't a dry eye in the room as Mary took his hand in hers. He continued, "I'll be downstairs…oh, I almost forgot. Lord Grantham asked me to bring this to you." He pulled a small package from his coat pocket and handed it to her. "He said to tell you this is supposed to ensure marital harmony and a long, happy marriage. He also said he wanted to confess that fifteen years ago he wasn't joking."

The women looked to Mary for an explanation of the remark, but she looked down at the package and merely smiled. She remembered well encountering Matthew on his first day at Crawley House. Their initial meeting had not gone smoothly. "Thank you, Carson. Please tell Lord Grantham I knew it all along." He bowed slightly and as he left the room, Mary said, "I'll be down in a moment." Mary then proceeded to open the package, gasping when she viewed its contents.

"What is it, Mary?" asked Edith, her interest piqued by Mary's reaction.

Mary pulled from the box a delicate white gold chain from which hung a double drop of large, pear-shaped aquamarine stones, each of which was a deep sky blue. Mary pulled a note from the bottom of the box. She read the words written in Matthew's strong hand:

 _The Romans believed when an aquamarine is worn, it joins in love and does great things. These stones represent life-long lovers, which we are, so wear this, my darling, as our journey begins. I love you._ [signed] _Your Matthew._

She handed the necklace to Edith and asked, "Will you do the honors, Edith?" She turned around, and Edith undid the clasp and placed the necklace around Mary's neck.

"Let us see, Mary," said Sybil. Mary turned and the women _oohed_ and _ahhed_ at how beautiful it looked against the silken gown. "Gosh, Mary," said Sybil, "it's as if he knew how perfect it would look with your dress. Are you sure he didn't get a look ahead of time?"

"He absolutely did not, Sybil," replied Mary with more sureness than she felt. She would put nothing past her fiancé when it came to wedding secrets.

"Well, the boy certainly has good taste," remarked Violet. Mary chose to ignore the "boy" moniker and simply nodded in response. "Did he get that ability from his father, Cousin Isobel?" Mary rolled her eyes. Granny was at it again.

"As a matter of fact, Cousin Violet, yes, he did. My Reginald had excellent taste and made it a point to choose items he knew I'd like. He was forever bringing home trinkets to please me. I'd say Matthew definitely takes after his father in that respect."

"How fortunate for Mary," replied Violet.

* * *

In the quiet drawing room, Matthew sat alone with his thoughts, his hands fidgeting with his cufflinks. Guests were beginning to arrive for the noon ceremony, and he wanted just a moment to himself. When he awoke early that morning at the Grantham Arms, it was all he could do to keep from sprinting to the Abbey, waking Mary, and taking her in his arms. He had waited years for this day, and his emotions were on the edge of spilling over. He was anxious to get on with the rest of his life, Mary by his side, so having to wait almost was unbearable. He'd confessed to Tom the previous evening over one too many whiskeys that it didn't seem possible he finally would possess the happiness he had sought for so long—

" _Do you know what it's like to want something so desperately, that once you see it come to fruition, you scarcely can believe it?"_

" _Oh, I think I do." Tom smiled as he poured another drink._

" _Of course you do, of course you do. How silly of me. God, Tom, I thought tomorrow would never come. I've loved her for so long." Matthew shook his head and stared into his glass._

 _Tom leaned forward and said earnestly, "It's been obvious for years that you two were meant to be together. Now that it's happening, you should relax and enjoy it. It's a sure thing tomorrow will come."_

And, indeed, the day _had_ come. Matthew stood by the window and looked out at the shining day. He knew the temperature was frigid, but his veins were filled with warmth. In a few moments, he was going to marry the love of his life.

* * *

The first thing Mary saw as she began to descend the stairs was Carson's familiar taciturn face, but when she reached him, she realized that his eyes were full of emotion. She could hear the string quartet playing Bach's _Wachet Auf_ as Carson crooked his arm for her, and she smiled serenely and took her bouquet from Anna, who had preceded her down the stairs. The bouquet consisted of long trails of foliage greenery interspersed with a few white roses, reflecting the arrangements in the urns that bordered the aisle and the sprays in the area where she and Matthew would take their vows. Her mama had wanted her to carry a more elaborate bouquet, but Mary insisted that a massive number of flowers was not appropriate for the simple ceremony she wanted.

Carson and she stood at the head of the aisle, and Mary could see Matthew facing away from her just as he had been instructed. At the rehearsal, he had insisted that he wanted to watch her come down the aisle until Violet told him in no uncertain terms that it just was "not done," and he acquiesced when his mother joined the fray and took Violet's side.

When Pachelbel's _Canon in D_ echoed through the Great Hall, Mary and Carson began their processional. Mary smiled at the familiar faces in the crowd of guests that consisted of family friends and villagers who had come to witness the ceremony. Halfway down the aisle, she and Carson stopped briefly, and she dropped her hand from his arm as he nodded to her. She had decided that she would give herself away, that she wanted everyone to know she gave herself freely, that she answered to no one but herself. As she continued down the aisle alone, there was a faint murmur among the attendees, which caused Matthew to turn towards her—Violet's admonition forgotten. The look on his face would be described later by all those in attendance as one of pure adoration.

 _She was glorious._

Three quarters of the way to him, Mary stopped suddenly, and she looked down as her hand went to her belly. _What was it Sybil said? A fluttering?_ She looked up at Matthew, tears in her eyes, and before she could take another step, he came down the aisle to her and took her right hand in his left.

Hand-in-hand they walked to the makeshift altar—two hearts bursting with a love they began to feel so many years ago.

* * *

Reverend Travis began the service traditionally—

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this Congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy Matrimony…."

 _I'm watching his mouth move,_ _but all I can hear is the beating of my heart. Oh, Matthew._

 _Talking. I know he's talking, but how can I concentrate with Mary's hand in mine?_

 _Look at them standing together. They look so natural. Dear Robert, how I wish you were here._

 _I've never seen him happier; it's as if he's come alive again._

 _Finally, everything is as it should be. I told her things weren't over between them. Life for the Crawleys will move on._

"…if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony…"

Matthew gripped Mary's hand.

 _Thank God nothing stands in our way._

"Matthew Reginald, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

"I will." _With all my heart_

"Mary Josephine, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

"I will." _I will love him past forever._

A snort came from the congregation, and heads turned to see Sybil covering her mouth. "Obey?" she whispered to Edith. "I can't wait to see that." The two sisters put their heads together and snickered.

Cora leaned over and pinched Sybil's arm. "That's quite enough." Dealing with her most outspoken daughter always had been such a challenge.

Violet leaned in and said in a whisper, "Sybil, my dear, there are many definitions of the word, as, no doubt, you are aware. Now, hush."

"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?"

Mary raised her chin and said, "I give myself—freely and with a heart full of love."

Travis cleared his throat and hesitantly readied himself to continue. He was aware Mary and Matthew had altered the next set of vows, and he was apprehensive as to how this variation would be received. Nevertheless, they had insisted, and since there were no edicts forbidding this, he took Mary's right hand and placed it in Matthew's, saying, "You now will pledge your good faith and fidelity." He nodded at Matthew, indicating he should speak.

Matthew's left hand covered their joined hands, and he looked into her eyes, his own becoming shimmering pools of blue and his voice ringing clear and true. "I, Matthew, take thee Mary to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

He raised her hand to his mouth, kissed it, and continued in a voice strong and confident. "When you walked into my life that day so long ago, it was a magical moment that I will treasure forever. It was an inexplicable force that brought us together, and I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I promise always to be your loving husband and to feel that kind of love every day for the rest of our lives. You have helped me triumph over challenges. You have helped me become the person I am today, and with your help, I will be a better man tomorrow than I was yesterday. As Thomas Hardy so aptly wrote, 'I shall do one thing in this life—one certain thing—that is, love you, and long for you, and keep wanting you until I die.' You always will be 'My Mary' because you are my everything."

Travis then took Matthew's hand, placed it in Mary's, looked at her, and nodded.

"I, Mary, take thee Matthew to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

She took a step towards him and raised his hand to her heart, saying in a voice that rang with clarity, "I have to catch my breath to believe this is real, that I am marrying my true love, my heart's desire, and my best friend. It is clear to me now that everything in my life has led me to you. I think back on all my choices and consider even the bad ones blessed because if I had done even one thing differently, I might never have become your wife. Wherever our journey leads us, I promise to walk with you arm in arm, hand in hand, to hold you as your wife and to learn from you, treasure you, and surprise you, forever. I promise to love you always, for one lifetime with you never could be enough."

Matthew turned to Tom, who handed him the wedding ring. He placed it on the book, and Travis blessed it and gave it back to Matthew, who took Mary's left hand in his. "With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

With a steady hand, he slipped the ring onto her finger, and Mary swallowed back tears when she looked down at her hand.

Travis once again joined their right hands and said, "Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder." As Matthew and Mary continued to smile at each other, Travis continued, "Forasmuch as Matthew and Mary have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Matthew raised her veil, and there was a tender urgency to their embrace as their lips came together. His hand caressed her cheek as he kissed her, and he felt her lips tremble against his, realizing she was attempting to keep her tears at bay.

"Don't tell me you have another cold," Isobel whispered to Violet as the latter brought a handkerchief to her nose.

"Don't be ridiculous," replied Violet. "That was the most beautiful wedding I've ever witnessed, so put that in your pipe and smoke it."

* * *

The bride and groom received their guests in the library, their backs against the massive bay window, and they found themselves on the receiving end of so many good wishes, they soon ran out of ways to respond other than to say "thank you" repeatedly. As the guests moved into the dining room for refreshments, the Great Hall was rearranged to accommodate dancing. A small band set up at the end where the altar had stood, and the urns and candles were moved against the walls. In keeping with the simplicity of the early-afternoon ceremony, Mary and Matthew had decided against a formal meal as part of the reception, preferring instead to have a buffet. The food was interspersed with lush garlands of lemon leaves, plumose ferns, and seeded eucalyptus. Loose blooms of the same white roses that had been part of Mary's bouquet were scattered among the greenery. Champagne flowed freely as guests mingled and enjoyed the various foodstuffs created by the ever-efficient kitchen staff. On a table at the far side of the room sat favors for the guests: prettily-wrapped packages that contained five almonds representing fertility, longevity, wealth, health and happiness.

Once all the guests had been greeted, the cake was brought into the dining room. Matthew's eyes grew wide at the massive confection, for it was five layers of sugary goodness, decorated with filigree and flowers and topped with yet another collection of greenery. As they stood before the cake, Mary looked behind her and saw Daisy peeking through the baize of the serving doorway. She smiled and mouthed _thank you_ as the young woman blushed and disappeared. Mary picked up the knife, and Matthew laid his right hand over her right hand. She then placed her left hand on top. She positioned the knife point at the center of the bottom tier of the cake and slowly cut it, as Matthew helped her. They cut a slice and shared it between them, each feeding the other amid laughter and applause.

Soon music wafted through the air, and Matthew and Mary stood alone in the middle of the Great Hall as the onlookers waited for them to begin their first dance as husband and wife.

"I hope you don't mind, but I've chosen an old song for our first dance," said Matthew as he held her fast. "I first heard it in the trenches, and it always made me think of you." He nodded towards the band and soon he led her around the floor to the familiar strains. He sang softly as they danced, his rich baritone humming in her ear:

 _And when I told them how beautiful you are,_

 _They didn't believe me. They didn't believe me!_

 _Your lips, your eyes, your cheeks, your hair,_

 _Are in a class beyond compare,_

 _You're the loveliest girl that one could see!_

 _And when I tell them,_

 _And I cert'nly am goin' to tell them,_

 _That I'm the man whose wife one day you'll be._

 _They'll never believe me. They'll never believe me._

 _That from this great big world you've chosen me!_

When the song finished, the couple continued moving only to break apart when they became aware of applause from the bystanders. Mary blushed and Matthew grinned as they acknowledged the reaction. Another tune began, and Mary whispered, "I've chosen a song, too. It's slightly more modern, but I hope you know I always will consider it 'ours.'" The band singer crooned as Matthew held the woman of his dreams in his arms. For her part, Mary closed her eyes and wept as the words swept her away:

 _I'll be loving you always  
With a love that's true always.  
When the things you've planned  
Need a helping hand,  
I will understand always.  
Always.  
Days may not be fair always,  
That's when I'll be there always.  
Not for just an hour,  
Not for just a day,  
Not for just a year,  
But always._

* * *

Dressed in their traveling clothes, Matthew and Mary appeared on the stairway's lower landing, but before she could toss her bouquet, Tom whistled and motioned for the crowd's attention. "I'm not one for speeches, but before you go on your way, I'd like to recite an old Irish blessing:

 _May God be with you and bless you._

 _May you see your children's children._

 _May you be poor in misfortunes and rich in blessings._

 _May you know nothing but happiness_

 _from this day forward._

There are no two people more deserving of good fortune. To Matthew and Mary!" Tom raised his glass, and the guests joined in the rousing cheer. After Mary threw her bouquet, they hurried out the door to be greeted by a driver standing beside a four-in-hand.

"Matthew!" Mary exclaimed, "did you do this?"

"No, it's a marvelous idea, though. I wonder who did?" When no one came forward to claim responsibility, he helped her into the carriage and followed her in. The carriage traveled down the gravel drive and headed for the train station, the guests gathering outside to wave them off.

"Matthew and Mary seemed surprised to see the four-in-hand," remarked Isobel. "I wonder who arranged for it?"

"No doubt, it was someone who feels there are some traditions worth holding on to," replied Violet, her mouth taut but her eyes twinkling.

* * *

The first thing Mary noticed when they entered the train compartment was the roses. Ribbon-festooned bundles of them were set about, and she gathered several of them in her arms and smelled their heady fragrance. "You did this, didn't you?" she asked, snaking her arm around Matthew's neck.

"I'd be a fool to tell you if I didn't," he replied, running his hands up her sides, "but, yes, I did. You deserve roses every day of your life."

"So, husband, _now_ will you tell me where we're going?" asked Mary, her eyes bright with anticipation.

"Well, wife, to London, but only for tonight. After that, you'll just have to wait to find out."

"Oh, you are exasperating!"

"Do you plan to be exasperated the entire journey to London?" Matthew asked playfully.

"I suppose not," Mary replied coyly. "It would be a dreadful waste of time."

"My feeling exactly. Now come here."

* * *

The train arrived in London promptly at seven in the evening. After they disembarked, Matthew led Mary to a waiting limousine, its door bearing the name _Claridge's_. "What?" Mary exclaimed, "we're not going to Grantham House or Painswick House?"

"Of course not, Mary. Who wants to spend the first night of their honeymoon at home? My wife deserves to spend her first night as a married woman in the finest hotel London has to offer." Matthew found to his delight that his wife was not above showing her gratitude by showering him with caresses and deep kisses in the backseat of a motor belonging to London's premier hotel.

When they arrived at the hotel, they were rather breathless and disheveled; nevertheless, they managed to compose themselves as they were greeted by the hotel manager, who escorted them to their penthouse suite. Its lavish pale green and gold art deco interior was comprised of several rooms—a spacious sitting room, small library, dining room, bedroom, dressing room, and en suite bath. It also had a private terrace, which was a serene haven overlooking the pitched rooftops and peaceful streets of Mayfair. They watched politely as their butler set out a veritable feast on the dining table: finger sandwiches, warm scones, sweet pastries, succulent fruit, and iced champagne. Mary noticed the vases were filled with white roses, and she glanced at Matthew knowingly.

Finally alone, they each released a breath and fell into each other's arms. Their hands worked feverishly—removing clothing and grasping, teasing, probing, caressing, until finally they fell into the draped, four-poster bed. Mary stretched out, her body writhing under Matthew's sensuous touch, the soft lamplight bathing the room in shadows. She combed his hair with her fingers as his hands cupped her breasts. "Do you feel how hard I am for you?" he murmured into her ear. He rolled to the side as his hands moved down to her center and felt the wetness there. "God, you're always so ready for me." He watched, fascinated, as she rolled her hips in response to his touch and moaned when his fingers entered her. He grinned when he felt her inner muscles begin to clench, and he murmured into her neck. "You're almost there. Come on, Mary." She cried out in ecstasy as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of her. As she spent around his hand, he whispered, "That's right. There you go, my love."

Breathless, she supported herself on her elbows and reached one hand forward, bringing his face to hers for an intense kiss. She bit down on his lip and said softly, "Now, you're mine, right?" He nodded. She sat up, leaned forward, and licked his nipple, her teeth grazing over it as it pebbled. "Then lie back, my darling. I'm ready to take possession." His head fell to the foot of the bed as she hovered over him. She ran her hands down his chest and followed them with her mouth as she licked and sucked the flesh on his chest and belly. Her hand grabbed his hard length, and he groaned as she began to pump it, using the moisture from its tip as a lubricant. Just when he thought he might never recover from the sensation of her firm hand, she leaned over and took him in her mouth. He realized she had taken him to the back of her throat when she swallowed, and he nearly came undone.

"Oh…my…dear…God…Mary." As much as he tried to hold back, to relish the sensation, he released into her mouth, his back rising from the bed, and his hands clutching the sheets. The intensity of his orgasm was a revelation to him. Despite all the times they had made love, he never had experienced one of that magnitude. He pulled her to him and rolled. His hands pushed her hair away from her forehead, and he said softly, "I'll never get enough of you, Mary. You're everything to me. My God, I never dreamed…"

"I know, my love. I never dreamed anything like this, either. You are the most beautiful man." Matthew laughed and kissed her. "I'm serious, Matthew. You truly take my breath away every time I look at you."

"Well, my love, the feeling is mutual. As far as I'm concerned, you're flawless—your skin, your eyes, your mouth. All of you. Thank you for loving me, for marrying me."

"It is I who should thank you, Matthew. I was terribly stubborn; if you hadn't persisted, this day might never have happened. I'm so very happy to be your wife—and to be the mother of your child. It's been a glorious day, hasn't it?"

"It certainly, certainly has been." He kissed her gently. "And by the way, when you were coming down the aisle, you stopped before I came to you. Why?"

"Oh, I'd forgotten! I felt a fluttering—a kind of movement—I remembered Sybil's saying that sensation meant the baby was moving. Just as I'd let go of Carson, I felt it. I haven't felt it since, but that must have been what it was."

Matthew's hand went to her belly, and he looked at her hopefully. "Will I be able to feel it?"

"Sybil says no, but at about twenty weeks you'll be able to feel him or her kicking."

Matthew chuckled and said, "Well, that hardly seems fair."

"Oh, I don't know. After all, darling, I'm the one who's had to deal with morning sickness and all the rest. It seems quite fair…"

"Of course. I'll wait patiently, then, until the baby makes his or her presence known to the outside world." Matthew moved down her body and laid his head on her belly. "Hello, little one. It's your papa here. I'm waiting for you to flex your muscles. You should know right now, though, just how much you are loved." When Matthew looked up at Mary, he saw the tears in her eyes and shed a few of his own. "You know, Mary, it's amazing. You can love two people with all of your heart at the same time and take nothing away from either."

Mary caressed his face and smiled. "I know," she replied as she pulled him to her.

* * *

"I was starving," said Mary, wiping her mouth with her napkin. After enjoying a rather luxurious bath, Matthew and she sat at the dining table and looked at the remnants of the meal they just had finished. It was a feast of sensuousness—they had fed each other the sandwiches and pastries and fruits that had been set out for them. She leaned over and licked a bit of pastry crème from Matthew's jaw, the result of his earlier effort to snatch an éclair from her hand. He stood and pulled her into his arms, his fingers loosening the belt of her dressing gown. He slid his hands beneath the garment and ran his hands up her naked torso. He took her lips in a blazing kiss and lifted her to sit on the table's edge.

"I'm still starving," he muttered as he stripped the gown from her shoulders, causing the silk to fall in a wave around her. Her legs fell to either side of his body, and he lowered her back onto the table. She pulled his dressing gown away, dropping it at his feet, and she clutched his back and moaned as their mouths crashed together. He worked his way down her body—his warm hands trailing over her trembling flesh, his mouth stoking the fire flaming within her—and she gripped the edge of the table when he dropped to his knees. He almost was overcome, relishing the sight, the scent, the sounds of her, and he pushed her thighs apart and began to lap at the wet heat of her center in long, slow strokes that made her writhe and keen and tremble. Her hips pitched instinctively as she held his head between her legs, responding to the feeling of his fingers, mouth, tongue plunging into her—needing him, craving him, crying out for more.

Her anticipation rose when he stood to look down on her, his hooded eyes blazing with blue desire, drinking her in. He lifted one of her legs to the crook of his arm, wrapped the other around his waist, and pulled her body roughly to the edge of the table, running his hands from her neck to her thighs. "You're perfect…God, your skin is like silk." His hands grabbed her hips, and he thrust his hard length repeatedly into her, causing her back to arch and her body to shudder from the impact. "So tight…so good…Ahh, you like that, don't you? Fuck, Mary. Talk to me…tell me what you want."

Shocked yet titillated by his expletive, she responded breathily, "Don't stop…don't ever stop. You're everything…I need…I need…" She lost control of her words, though, as her core began to throb, the intensity of her response almost overwhelming. She loved his strength, his power, his raw passion. As the ferocity of his thrusts increased, her muscles began to clench and her head reeled as her body sought its release. "Matthew, now!" the cry tearing from her throat as she bucked and twisted and spent. Four more thrusts and he, too, erupted, his body rigid, his muscles twitching, his head full of stars.

Both of them panting, he pushed her body higher onto the table, climbed atop her, and she clutched his body to hers, both still experiencing the aftershocks of their lovemaking. Her hands smoothed his damp hair back from his forehead, and he nuzzled her neck. Their bodies slick with perspiration, they continued to kiss softly until, finally, he rose from the table, leaned over, and picked her up bridal style. Almost too exhausted to raise her head, Mary whispered, "Where are you taking me?"

"To bed," Matthew replied, his voice hoarse and full.

"Can we shower first?" she sighed.

"Of course."

* * *

They nestled into the crisp, white sheets of their first marriage bed, his arms around her, her head on his chest, their limbs entangled comfortably. "You are my now and my tomorrow and my forever," he whispered, and she raised her head, looked at him, and smiled.

They fell asleep totally at peace—husband and wife.


	36. Chapter 36

Thanks to some early morning hijinks between the newly-minted husband and wife, the Earl and Countess of Grantham hurriedly checked out of Claridge's and barely made it in time to board the _Golden Arrow,_ the luxury boat train of the Southern Railway that linked London with Dover.

" _If we hope to start the second part of our journey," the breathless husband had said to his equally-breathless wife as his hands moved over her quivering body, "we need to get moving."_

" _I don't know how you can expect me to move with any sort of speed after that exhibition," Mary replied, wiping the perspiration from his brow._

" _Are you saying you'd rather stay here than start the second part of our journey?" asked Matthew, his brows moving suggestively._

" _Considering there isn't a surface in this suite on which you haven't had me, we might as well move on to new territory, I suppose," she said as she untangled herself gingerly from the mussed sheets of their once-pristine bed. She scarcely was exaggerating, for they had made good use of the suite's furniture, walls, and floors._

" _I beg your pardon, my love. I believe you had me in a number of places as well." Matthew smirked, remembering Mary's particular ingenuity with one of the suite's tufted ottomans. "However, we have reservations, not to mention expectations, so let's see if we can sort ourselves in time to catch the train to Dover."_

" _Dover? What's in Dover?"_

" _Oh, white cliffs, old churches, Roman ruins…"_

" _Matthew! Be serious."_

" _Well, there's also a ferry port…"_

" _We're going to Calais?" The tone of her voice revealed her amazement._

" _Perhaps," he said casually. "The sooner we get going, the sooner you'll find out."_

After Matthew and Mary stepped off the ferry in Calais, he directed her gently to the waiting motor which was to take them to _Gare Maritime de Dieppe_ , the train station where the next leg of their journey would begin. When they arrived, Mary's eyes grew wide, for there before her on the train tracks sat a line of gleaming blue coaches, their gold trim shimmering in the sunlight. "Oh, Matthew, _Le Train Bleu?_ We're going to _Côte d'Azur_?"

"Eventually, after the train picks up passengers in Paris, Lyon, and Marseilles. Why? Don't you want to go?"

She threw herself into his arms, quite forgetting proprieties and knocking his hat to the ground in the process. "Oh, Matthew, you darling man, the French Riviera! I can think of no more perfect place for us to spend our honeymoon. I've always dreamed of going!"

He took advantage of her embrace, pulling her close and murmuring into her hair, "I hoped you'd be thrilled. We'll have four glorious weeks." He grinned as he felt her lips brush his neck. "Now, let's get on board and settle in. Our adventure awaits."

* * *

Holding Mary's pliant body in his arms, Matthew lay in the berth of the spacious private suite as the train rolled and rocked over the French countryside. The cabin was dark, lit only by the moonlight that flickered through the windows of the fast-moving train. He looked at the sleeping beauty in his arms and marveled as her naked body snuggled into his. She was draped across his torso, her cheek on his shoulder. He could feel her soft breasts pressed into his side, and her left leg rested between his legs. And there was no mistaking the slight bump that pressed into his hip. Their lovemaking that evening had been sensuous, carnal, searing, delicious—leaving them both gasping for air. What he had been imagining all those years didn't come close to the passion he felt when he held her in his arms. Loving her was like coming home—she filled his heart and mind with such desire it frightened him sometimes. From the moment he met her, he'd craved her.

 _Damn the circumstances that had kept them apart!_

But now they were traveling together, married, headed towards four weeks of sunny bliss. He'd had mixed emotions about returning to France for their honeymoon, his memories of that country associated only with the war, the devastation he'd witnessed, and his injury. His decision to plan the trip to the Riviera had everything to do with giving Mary the honeymoon of her dreams, his own memories be damned, and her reaction at finding out their destination was worth everything to him. He had avoided looking out the train's windows too much that afternoon although the route to the Riviera skirted the battlefields he still remembered vividly. Still, catching sight of poppy fields and cemeteries gave him pause. Mary had sensed his reticence and looked at him with eyes so full of understanding he hardly could speak.

As he lay listening to the train's steady rhythm, it occurred to Matthew that fifteen years was a long time to wait for one's heart's desire, and the contentment he felt lying there with his love in his arms corresponded directly with the pleasure he experienced every time he touched her. As his hand ran up and down and toyed with the skin on her arm, he thought about all the elements of his life that had led to that moment.

He remembered…

 _being beguiled by her frosty welcome when she strode into Crawley House the day he and Isobel arrived at Downton_

 _kissing her for the first time over sandwiches and strawberries_

 _feeling bereft as he rode the train away from Downton—and from her—on his way to war_

 _seeing the hurt in her eyes the first time he brought Lavinia to the Abbey_

 _sensing that the touch of her hand could bring him back from the abyss of his injury_

 _watching her recoil from Richard Carlisle when he got too close_

 _believing she was lost to him forever_

 _aching, always aching, for her._

He leaned down and placed his nose in her hair, smelling the scent that clung to her like some kind of harbinger of all things lovely and promising. She sighed in her sleep, and her warm breath hit his shoulder. They had been married a little over thirty-six hours, and he realized he never would forget the way his heart stood still as he watched her come down the aisle to him. She hadn't told him of her intention to walk alone part of the way, so when he heard the onlookers stir, he turned to see her, a vision in white, walking confidently towards him.

As always, she took his breath away.

When she paused momentarily, he couldn't help moving to her, leaning in to whisper "All right?" and seeing her nod, taking her hand, walking with her the rest of the way up the aisle, not as her escort but as her partner. In his mind, it was a perfect moment, for being by her side for the rest of his life was something he'd dreamed of for so long. There was no forever without her.

As he continued to hold her close, he conjured up the vision of her in their room at Claridge's—how her alabaster body writhed against the mahogany table, how her eyes shone with desire when he held her against the shower wall, how her hands moved over his body as she explored and tasted and teased, how she responded so passionately when he found his haven in the velvet between her legs, how she smiled when he professed his love for her and their child. The room was a wonderland for the senses—sight, taste, touch, smell, sound—and he knew only that he never would want for anything as long as they were together.

He smiled recalling the sparkle in her eyes when she saw the blue train cars that afternoon in Calais. They'd boarded the train, settled their things in their suite, and returned to the dining car for luncheon. The train left on schedule but was delayed for an hour and a half in Paris because—they found out later—the train was being held for the Prince of Wales, Mrs. Dudley Ward, and their entourage, who also were traveling to the Riviera and were running behind schedule. He found himself annoyed at the delay, but Mary cajoled him out of his displeasure by providing quite an intoxicating diversion in the privacy of their compartment.

He flushed at the memory.

He looked down once again at her sleeping form. Her face was composed, perfect; her lashes swept the tops of her ivory cheeks; her mouth, so expressive, now rested in a perfect bow. He ran his thumb down her cheek, remembering his pride when he escorted her into the train's lounge. He knew she turned heads when she entered a room, and today was no exception. Once the train was underway again after the delay in Paris, he and Mary joined other travelers in the lounge, and several English couples, who also were headed to the Riviera, looked at them admiringly. After they had socialized for a while, Matthew decided his fellow travelers were a rowdy bunch for English aristocrats, even if they were on holiday, and he found himself coveting some peace and quiet. He and Mary were forced to endure a barrage of well-wishes once the group learned they were on honeymoon, and they found themselves on the receiving end of several dinner and party invitations as a result of their disclosure. Once he revealed their destination—a private villa in Juan-les-Pins, just outside of Antibes—the group insisted that he and Mary "simply must" attend the New Year's Eve celebration at Château Grimaldi, Matthew agreeing readily, not disclosing he already had made plans for him and Mary to attend.

Mary hummed and turned her body further into his as he recalled more of the day's events. She had wanted to rest before dinner, and the other travelers raised eyebrows and grinned knowingly as Matthew and Mary thanked them for their kind invitations and, pleading exhaustion, retired to their suite, promising they would see the group in the salon-bar after dinner for drinks.

" _That was an interesting group," he said as he loosened his tie and stretched._

" _Yes. I suppose our status as newlyweds means we have to deal with a certain amount of innuendo. Did you notice how Lord and Lady Raines snickered when I told them we spent last night at Claridge's?" Mary's lips were pursed in annoyance, remembering how Lady Raines made a point of staring at the visible sign of her pregnancy._

" _I did, indeed, and I also noticed the way Lord Jameson couldn't keep his eyes off you. He seemed rather enamoured—and rather a scoundrel."_

" _Hmmm. He's harmless. You're one to talk, though. What about Lady Robelard? The way she kept pawing you, I thought for a moment she might have been an old lover of yours."_

" _That was odd, wasn't it?" Matthew replied, shaking his head. "I've never seen her before in my life."_

They had enjoyed a sumptuous dinner, every bit as impressive as anything produced in the finest London restaurants. The dining car's mahogany paneling, green trim, and Venetian mirrors exuded luxury, and they enjoyed dining in the company of fellow travelers Winston and Clementine Churchill, who were on their way to Nice—the Chancellor of the Exchequer and his wife proving to be most engaging dinner companions. Since being at Lords, Matthew had been rather in awe of the Chancellor's profound wit, so dining with him and his wife was quite a treat. It was apparent "Clemmie" was a woman of lively intelligence, and Winston readily admitted she often stopped him from making many political blunders. Matthew's lips curled into a smile as he recalled Clementine's calling her husband "a bloody old fool," and Winston's winking at him and Mary, telling them the sun should never set on any of their arguments: "Just obey her commands, old chap, and all will be rosy."

The train whistle blared, and Mary's hand moved down Matthew's chest, settling just above his hip. He kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes. Meeting the Prince of Wales and Mrs. Dudley Ward in the train's salon-bar had been interesting. Their relationship was an open secret among the aristocratic set although Mary had assured him the Prince was a notorious womanizer and doubted if they were exclusive. Matthew had seen members of the Royal Family a few times but only from afar, so he was fascinated to watch Mary conversing with the couple so comfortably. When the Prince expressed his hope that Mary would continue to host her annual party at Painswick House during the London Season, saying how much he had enjoyed her parties in the past, Matthew's brows rose. That was something they'd yet to discuss. Mary was noncommittal, telling the Prince only how honored she'd been by his attendance.

When the train groaned and shrieked over a particularly hilly part of the terrain, Matthew felt Mary stretch in his arms, and she cleared her throat, raised her head, and asked drowsily, "Hello, darling, can't you sleep?"

"My head seems to be full of all sorts of things."

"Like what?"

"Oh, I suppose mainly I'm just looking forward to our home away from home."

She ran her fingers through her hair and then settled back into his arms. "Tell me about it. You haven't said much."

"Well, it's called _Villa St. Louis_ and is directly on the water in Juan-les-Pins just outside of Antibes. It has a staff of six, the furnishings are said to be quite fine, and we'll have a Renault coupe at our disposal so we can explore to our hearts' content. And you'll like this, my darling: It's the villa Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald always rent; in fact, they departed Juan-les-Pins just four months ago."

"Really? How thrilling! Knowing how you love it, I've brought _Gatsby_ along. It will be lovely to enjoy a novel in the home in which the author lived."

"I don't know if this is true, but supposedly from our terrace, we'll be able to see the lighthouse that inspired the green light on the dock described in the novel."

"My goodness. We'll have to make a point of looking for it." That was one of her favorite elements in the novel. Picturing Gatsby longing for Daisy as he watched the green light blink reminded her of how she felt about Matthew when they were apart. "What else?"

Matthew pulled her closer and stroked her neck. "Well, the villa has a large terrace and a private beach."

Mary's foot moved up and down Matthew's shin as her hand moved to his chest and played with the soft hair scattered there. "Mmmm. It will be lovely to bask in sunshine, won't it?"

He turned her onto her back and leaned over her, his ardor kindled by her movements. He punctuated the litany that followed with soft kisses to her eyelids, forehead, nose, and lips. "We'll have fresh seafood…and olives…and bread…and cheese."

"Yummy," she whispered.

"Indeed," he replied, as his mouth covered hers.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding along her lower lip. She sighed against him, her body suddenly lit from within, her arms tightening around him, drawing him closer. A moan rose in her throat, which was answered by a groan that rumbled up through his body. He pressed his hips against her, his erection driving into her belly, and she arched into him. Her skin was warm and soft and supple against his, her scent captivating, her moans alluring. He rose to his knees between her legs, put his hands on her shoulders and slowly, gently trailed his fingertips down her skin to her breasts. Her body glowed in the moonlight, causing Matthew to take a deep breath before continuing. "You're so beautiful, Mary," he whispered. He then lowered his lips to her right nipple and sucked it gently, intensifying the pressure gradually as she sighed and took his head in her hands. He took her hands in his and held them next to her shoulders. Then he moved to her other nipple, sucking, teasing, licking until her breathing quickened, and she began to writhe against him. He released her hands and moved side-to-side down her body, leaving a trail of kisses and heat as she raised her torso in response and pulled his shoulders to bring him back up and onto her body.

He pressed a whisper of a kiss across her lips.

She responded in a voice so soft, he strained to hear it.

"You...always. Now. _Please_ …Matthew."

She could feel him smile against her neck as her hands moved over his body, touching every crevice and muscle that defined him; she was more than happy, beyond happy, filled with a blissful headiness. Her insides were swirling, and she felt a raw, primal hunger surging through her body as Matthew's hand moved to her core. She was ready for him, as she always was, and as he swept his fingers over her sex, she trembled in anticipation. Her heart beat wildly and desire swept through her veins. Her eyes were alight with lust and need, and she reveled in his strength and his gentleness, what he could do to her body and how he responded to her.

"Enjoy it…feel it," Matthew whispered as he rocked himself into her. "Just let me love you." Thrusting hard and long, slowly and deeply, he buried himself inside her. Her body clenched and sucked him deeper. "Open your eyes…I want to watch you…I want to feel you," he pleaded, and she caught a glimpse of the storm within his eyes. He continued to plunge into her, stoking the fire, causing her nerve endings to quiver, bringing her to the edge of ecstasy, until he was throbbing as her inner muscles contracted, and they soared and fell, groaned and cried, their passions unleashed, tongues clashing, breaths electrified, bodies shuddering.

Their bodies and their souls and their hearts and their minds fused.

Euphoria reigned.

"You're insatiable, Your Lordship," she murmured, stroking his face gently.

"Only for you, Countess," he whispered.

* * *

After several stops along the coast, the train finally reached Antibes in the late afternoon, and Mary and Matthew disembarked and were immediately approached by Lord and Lady Raines, who reminded them of their promise to attend the New Year's Eve celebration the following evening at Château Grimaldi. Assuring the couple they would be there, Mary and Matthew continued to the greeting area where they found a dapper Frenchman holding a hand-lettered sign emblazoned with _Crawley_.

"I am Nicolas Desrosiers, your chauffeur and guide, at your service," his supercilious manner amusing rather than annoying. "Right this way, _s'il vous plait_."

Matthew attended to the baggage handlers, and once their luggage was sorted, the honeymooners settled in the back of the touring motor, and Nicolas drove towards Juan-les-Pins, pointing out sights as he drove out of Antibes.

"The Greeks settled Antibes more than 2,200 years ago," he announced proudly as he pointed to a structure. " _Cathédrale Notre-Dame-de-la-Platea d'Antibes_ was built on the site of an ancient Greek temple. You might like to visit _Jardin botanique de la Villa Thuret_ , a renowned botanical garden located on the grounds of the Villa Thuret." The motor continued down narrow cobblestone streets, Nicolas talking almost non-stop. "There's an old port and markets and villas and beaches…"

"Thank you, Nicolas. I'm sure we'll find many sites of interest." Matthew smiled and grasped Mary's hand tightly. "For now, we'd just like to get settled into our villa. How much farther to Juan-les-Pins?"

" _Nous sommes ici_ , Lord Grantham. We are here. _Villa St. Louis_ is just there. By the way, just above is _le château de Juan-les-Pins_ , a property rented often by _dignitaires_ such as Valentino."

"Really?" asked Mary, intrigued, "Is he here now?"

"I do not know, Madame, but I'm sure I can find out."

Matthew looked askance at Mary, and she grinned.

* * *

When Matthew and Mary arrived at the villa, they were greeted by René Villeneuve, the villa's long-time butler, a tall, thin mustachioed man who greeted them in perfect English, albeit with a French accent. He led them into the middle of the main living area and stood quietly as they took in their surroundings. He then introduced the house staff, who scurried away after their introductions.

The pictures Matthew had seen of the _Villa St. Louis_ did not do it justice, for it was all he had hoped for and more. The structure itself was a glimmering white, its dove-gray shutters pristine against the long façade. The interior was filled with bright light from the half-moon windows, and the three marble arches in the wide, grand lounge opened directly onto the terrace overlooking the shimmering Mediterranean and from which a long stairway led down to the sea. The garden featured a pergola surrounded by rose bushes, irises, and begonias, the colors bursting in the temperate sunshine and complimenting the azure of the sea that stretched behind the property. The villa's polished, white stucco interior walls served as a backdrop for works of art by Picasso, Matisse, and Cezanne that depicted the local landscape. The furniture throughout the villa was rustic and comfortable, with overstuffed sofas and chairs made more for lounging than for sedate sitting.

Mary was spellbound by her surroundings, saying to Matthew in a whisper as she clasped his hand, "It makes me want to take off my shoes and traipse about barefoot."

"There's no reason why you can't, my darling," he replied with a laugh. Truth be told, he was looking forward to a much more casual way of living during the month they would be there.

"René," Mary said, "I believe we'll have some tea after we freshen up a bit. Would you direct us to our suite?"

"Madame, I was unsure which suite you would prefer. There are two on this level and one on the second level. Would you like to see them to compare?"

"Which one has the best view?" asked Matthew.

"I would say the one on the second level, sir," replied René. "It has a wall of doors that lead to a private terrace. Of course, there really is no bad view from any of the rooms."

"I'm sure; nevertheless, I believe we'll take the second-level room." He turned to Mary. "Is that all right with you, darling?"

Mary nodded, and they followed René up the marble staircase to a set of double doors. He opened them with a flourish to reveal a high-ceilinged bedroom unlike any they ever had seen. The walls were a light azure with white moldings, and all the furniture was a crisp white with gold embellishments. A deep azure duvet embroidered with flowers and vines covered the four-poster bed, and the upholstered furniture echoed the same design. French doors led to a private terrace housing two chaises adorned with pillows and separated by a handcrafted metal side table. As it was downstairs, the view was breathtaking. A door on one side of the room led to a sitting room complete with a gramophone, a wall of books, and access to the aforementioned terrace; on the room's other side was a marble en suite bath with dressing rooms on either side.

"This is spectacular, René. Just what I expected," said Matthew as his arm snaked around Mary's waist.

"Yes, it's lovely," added Mary. "When we come down for tea, you may send someone up to finish unpacking."

After René departed with a bow, Matthew took Mary into his arms and asked, "What do you think, my love?"

"I think you've outdone yourself, and I should thank you properly…" He leaned in to kiss her, and she placed her hands on his chest, adding, "…right after I bathe off the dust from the train."

"I'm dusty, too, you know," he said piteously.

She brushed his shoulders. "So you are…"

* * *

Mary tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and allowed the warm water to flow over her face. The rivulets continued down her neck, past her breasts, over her bump, and disappeared down below. Matthew moved behind her and reached for a sponge and soap. Her eyes followed his movements, and her breath caught as he moved the sponge across her breasts and down to the bump, swirling, caressing, cleansing. He then sat on the marble bench that was built into the shower and had her raise first one leg, and then the other, washing each foot, each calf, each thigh gently, lovingly, as her hands rested on his shoulders. She took the sponge from him and had him rise. She alternated her hand and the sponge as she soaped his body back to front. When she raised her arms to adjust the shower head, she suddenly stopped, her hands moving quickly to her middle.

Matthew grabbed her arms, saying, "Mary? What is it?"

She looked up at him and smiled. "It's the fluttering again. I wish you could feel it."

He placed his hand on her bump, rubbed gently, and kissed her. "I wish I could, too. Is this the first time you've felt it since the wedding?"

"No, I felt it last night when we…we were…"

Matthew chuckled and raised an eyebrow, "Really? Interesting." He continued to rub her bump as they stood together under the cascading water. "Why don't we see if we can't get him or her to flutter again?"

She smiled into his kiss.


	37. Chapter 37

Mary awoke in Matthew's arms their first morning in the villa. He slept spooned against her back, his arms holding her close and his legs tangled with hers. Gingerly, she extricated herself and sat on the edge of the bed before donning her wrapper and moving into the en suite bath to find her overnight kit that held a small supply of salted biscuits. She was suffering from a bit of nausea but was relieved that this bout of sickness was mild. Much to her relief, her morning sickness recently had begun to wane, and she was hopeful the worst was over. She had been nibbling religiously on Mrs. Patmore's special biscuits to stave off any nausea that might hit her in the mornings, so she had packed enough tins to ensure she'd have plenty at her disposal while on her honeymoon. To her immense relief, she had been sick only once since her wedding day, and this round of nausea seemed to have passed.

Once she finished her morning ablutions, she tiptoed back into the bedroom where Matthew still slept soundly. The sight of his mussed hair and boyish, composed face made her smile, and she didn't have the heart to wake him. She debated whether to rejoin him in bed, but the tantalizing scenery awaiting her outside the villa was too tempting to resist. The morning light was filtered by the gauzy curtains that covered the French doors, and the private terrace beckoned, so she opened the doors and immediately was struck by a cool, salty breeze. The pale eastern light danced on the water, and the sky was filled with varying shades of pink and orange and blue, which were reflected in the crystal-clear, turquoise water below that lapped against the bone white of their private beach. Mary found herself transfixed by the beauty of it all as she stood before the stucco wall. Nothing in her experience had prepared her for the scenery in front of her—she considered herself well-read, but no description possibly could do justice to the scene that stretched before her. Certainly, she never had experienced such beauty first-hand.

Spellbound, she didn't hear the French doors open as Matthew emerged to join her on the terrace. He stopped to take in the view but soon found himself entranced by a view of a different sort. Mary's wrapper—a lustrous, diaphanous, tissue-silk confection—was blowing about her body, revealing curves and skin and quite captivating him. He watched silently as she stretched her body to look over the wall, the wispy, multicolored flowers on the garment dancing as the breeze swirled about her. She smiled when she felt his arms move around her waist, and as he leaned into her, his head on her shoulder, she said softly, "Good morning, my darling. Isn't it beautiful?"

"Mmmm. Beautiful," he replied as he nuzzled her neck. "The scenery is, too."

She turned in his arms and kissed him gently. "Flatterer."

"It's truth, my love, not flattery."

Mary turned towards the sea once again, her back against Matthew, his arms crossed over her chest, his hands on her shoulders. "It's the perfect place for lovers, isn't it?"

Matthew whispered into her ear, "Which is what we are."

"Yes."

* * *

As Matthew and Mary were finishing breakfast on the lower-level terrace, the sun was shining down on the sea, coating it in warm yellows and oranges, and the uninterrupted vista allowed them to see the lighthouse to the west and a small spate of land to the east. Birds whistled in the trees while an occasional sailboat dotted the sea's azure surface. In spite of the scenic beauty, once again Matthew found himself staring at his wife. She was dressed in fashionable beach pyjamas—a stylish, striped sleeveless jumpsuit with a wide belt and striped-edge hat—that were the epitome of Riviera chic. A matching jacket hung on the back of her chair.

 _She had been surprised to find several pairs of beach pyjamas in her closet that morning, calling to Matthew, "What have you done?"_

 _When he entered her dressing room, he laughed and promptly looked chagrined. "Well, you obviously didn't know where we were going on honeymoon, so I contacted Coco for fashion advice."_

" _Did you now?"_

" _Yes, and she was adamant that you'd require all sorts of these…these…types of outfits. I trusted she knew of what she spoke since she seems to spend so much time here…"_

 _Mary's eyebrow shot up. "And how do you know this?"_

" _I read the papers, too, my darling. Anyway, I just asked her to sort out some things for you, Miss Mercier hid them away when she brought your gown and trousseau to Downton, and Sybil and Anna managed to pack them without your knowing. I will admit I was unsure whether you'd like wearing such things, but evidently, they're_ de rigueur _for the Riviera."_

 _Mary laughed and said, "I'm sure Sybil was thrilled to be in on the secret, knowing how she loves them. Coco's been trying to get me into pyjama-style trousers for years, and I've put her off because there never seemed to be an appropriate venue for my wearing them. She'll be beside herself that I'm wearing them here."_

" _You are?" Matthew made no effort to hide his delight._

" _Of course, darling. You went to a lot of trouble, so it's the least I can do to show my appreciation. You may be sorry, though, because according to Sybil, they're quite comfortable. I may be wearing them around the village in future." She grinned as she riffled through the hanging clothes and pulled out the navy-and-white-striped garment. "Do you suppose this will do for today?"_

" _Very nicely, I think."_

" _Good. Now, go down to breakfast while I dress." She looked at him tenderly as he hesitated and walked to him. "Thank you for being so thoughtful, Matthew." She fell into his embrace, realizing once again that she had married the most marvelous man._

* * *

They spent the better part of the morning exploring the villa and its grounds, discovering all sorts of delights both inside and out. Mary was particularly intrigued by the artwork. Having grown up surrounded by the works of Old Masters, she found the Matisses, Picassos, and Monets quite appealing and enquired of René where she and Matthew might find the locations depicted in some of the paintings. She was thrilled to discover that many of the sites were close by, including the Château Grimaldi, where they were to attend the New Year's Eve celebration that evening. René told her Claude Monet had lived and painted in Antibes in the late 1880s—depicting the village from many angles—and Auguste Renoir once had his home and studio in nearby Cagnes sur Mer. He also suggested they travel to the historic fortified village of Saint Paul de Vence, situated half an hour's drive inland, telling her its sleepy, winding streets and stone farmhouses in the surrounding hills, which looked down to Cap d'Antibes in the distance, were inspirations for a number of the pieces hanging in the villa.

Outside the villa, they found a number of things of interest, as well, including trails through the pines that surrounded the villa, fascinating statuary, beautiful plantings, and, to Matthew's delight, a collection of bicycles. Taking off their shoes and stockings, they walked arm-in-arm along their private beach, occasionally stopping to pick up and inspect an interesting shell or two. The afternoon heat was pleasant, and Matthew suggested they wade out into the shallow water for a bit. Mary balked, unsure of the water's temperature and not wanting to risk getting wet, but she finally gave in when Matthew assured her she could avoid the latter by pulling up her pant legs and securing them under her belt. His pants already rolled up to his knees, he moved towards her with the intention of helping her.

"Wait, I'm not sure about this, Matthew. What if someone sees?"

Matthew sighed and replied, "Mary, it's a private beach. There's no one here but me to see you. Surely, _that_ won't bother you."

"What about René or Nicolas or one of the other servants?"

Exasperated, he said, "Mary, they've plenty to do without standing around watching us. Besides, you'd show more wearing a bathing costume."

"Well, since I have no intention of wearing a bathing costume in this weather, your argument lacks merit."

"I realize it's not warm enough to swim, but that shouldn't stop us from getting our feet wet at least."

Shaking her head, she gathered the jumpsuit's fabric in her hands and tucked it under her belt. She walked determinedly into the gentle surf, turned to Matthew, and said, "Well, aren't you coming?"

Momentarily stunned by the vision before him, Matthew nodded his head and joined her in the water. He nearly was breathless watching the way her shapely legs moved through the clear water.

"See? I knew you'd like it," he called.

"Don't be so smug, sir. Exhibitionism is not something I'm fond of."

He approached her and took her in his arms. "Yes, but you're fond of me, aren't you?" Their time in the sun already had brought out the freckles on her nose, and he couldn't resist placing a kiss there.

"I suppose," she replied, "but only because I like having you around most of the time."

"Most of the time?!" He bent down and grabbed her hips and threw her over his shoulder, which caused her to shriek with laughter.

"Matthew! Put me down! I mean it!"

Saying, "Oh, you want me to put you down, eh?" he made as if her were going to throw her into the water. Shrieking again, Mary struggled in his arms, which caused him almost to lose his balance. "Be careful, Mary, or we'll both get drenched," he warned, laughing. "Now, what were you saying about having me around?"

"That I love being with you every minute of every day. Now, please, put me down."

"Very well, then." He cradled in his arms bridal-style, kissed her, and set her down carefully. A devious look came over her face, and before he could stop her, she placed her hands on his shoulders and shoved him backwards, causing him to fall into the chilly water.

She almost had made it to the beach before he caught her, tackling her into the surf, and sending them both into paroxysms of laughter. Their clothes sodden, they crawled to the beach and lay panting on their backs in the sand. Matthew rolled over onto his side, pushed the wet hair away from Mary's face, and stared into her shining eyes. "God, I love you, Mary. Being here with you is a dream come true."

"And I love you—every minute of every day. Promise me you'll never doubt that."

"I promise," he said, kissing her softly. "Now, I suppose we need to clean up if we're going to get out this afternoon." He stood and helped her to her feet. Shivering, they both began to wring out their clothes, as they ran back to the warmth of the villa.

* * *

They took the Renault into town and spent the afternoon hand-in-hand strolling around the resort, eating a lunch of fresh fruit and seafood at a little outdoor café, and enjoying the gentle climate. They both looked the part of stylish aristocrats—Mary in another set of beach pyjamas and Matthew in a sailor jersey, cap, and white duck pants—and blended in with other couples on holiday. Fascinated by surroundings that were so different from those with which they were familiar, before heading back to their villa to rest, they resolved in future to explore the many galleries, gardens, and shops that dotted the shoreline.

When they reached the villa, they were greeted by René, who informed them refreshments awaited them on the terrace outside their bedroom. He also told them he had placed a electric cast-iron space heater they might wish to use on the terrace if the air grew too chilly and told them not to hesitate to call on him if they needed anything else. Thanking him, they made their way upstairs and found a repast that included sandwiches, fruit, and macarons. The terrace was comfortably warm in the late afternoon sun, and a gentle breeze blew in from over the water. Plopping down on one of the chaises, Matthew remarked, "It seems the Mediterranean climate lends itself to lethargy and gluttony, for now that we're here, I'm going to find it difficult to move from this spot." He popped a macaron into his mouth and reclined on the chaise, stretching and closing his eyes.

Mary sat on the end of his chaise and removed her hat. "Have you forgotten that tonight's New Year's Eve and we're expected at Château Grimaldi?" she asked with a smile.

"Not at all," he replied. "Once I get my second wind, I'll be ready to ring in the New Year happily with you by my side. In the meantime I plan to loll about here and enjoy time alone with my wife."

Mary rose, and as she passed him, he took her hand in his. "I'm going to change," she said. "I'll be right back." She entered her dressing area and pulled out a raspberry and blush beaded silk dressing gown with an Oriental motif hand painted on the wide sleeves. She didn't bother with slippers, preferring to feel the cool marble under her feet, and walked back out onto the terrace where Matthew lay propped on the chaise, his hands behind his head. His eyebrows rose when she appeared, and he whistled appreciatively. She poured two cups of tea and placed them on the table between the chaises, but before she could sit on the other chaise, Matthew reached for her hand.

"Come sit with me," he said in a voice teeming with desire.

She situated herself next to him on the chaise, her head on his shoulder and his fingers in her hair. They lay together, both of them enjoying the warmth of both the Globar heater and the sun. Matthew had untucked his shirt once they had reached their room, and Mary's hand moved under it, caressing his chest gently. "I love the feel of you," she whispered, as she moved her hand from his chest and placed it flat against the zipper of his trousers. He hardened at her touch as she angled herself more towards him and kissed him passionately, pulling his shirt up and over his head. He raised his hips when her hand went to the waistband of his trousers, unzipped them, and slipped them and his drawers down his legs. He reached into her dressing gown, surprised to find her naked underneath it, and moved his hands to her shoulders causing the garment to fall to the terrace floor. Neither of them ever had been naked out of doors, and they found themselves only momentarily hesitant to remain so—the thrill of such an unorthodox act quite overwhelming their sense of propriety. It was exhilarating and forbidden and arousing, and they craved each other as a result.

As Mary stretched out beside Matthew, she trembled uncontrollably when his fingers found her center. He directed the wetness over the source of her pleasure, and she felt her body flush and electrify as a result of his touch. Repositioning her so that she now was reclining, he loomed over her, his knees on either side of her hips. Starting with her mouth, he began to paint her body with his lips and tongue, kissing, sucking, licking, nipping down her throat to her breasts to her belly to her inner thighs, making her blood sing and her heart pound. His hands grasped her hips, and his tongue and fingers repeatedly stroked her throbbing core as her hands cradled his head and held him in place. She keened and cried out her release as his tongue played and tormented and lapped her most intimate flesh. Moving back up her body, he held her close as her aftershocks subsided, saying, "Everything…you are everything, my love."

She turned on the chaise, and he maneuvered her until she was straddling his body; he cried out and her head fell back as she slid onto him, relishing the sensation of fullness their joining created. His breaths came quickly until he was fully sheathed inside of her. Neither of them moved for a moment, staring at each other in heated longing, unwilling to disturb the connection. She remained still when she captured his mouth, mumbling into his lips, "So good."

He raised his hand from her hip to the nape of her neck, and their tongues began to move as he raised and lowered his hips, causing her hips to undulate in response. A clenching ache built in her belly as she broke the kiss, sat up, and ran her hands down his chest and over his stomach, savoring his strength. "I need to feel you, all of you," she whispered. She deliberately slowed her movements, savoring every thrust, until they were kissing again, his hands traveling down her back, to her thighs, and back to her hips. They began moving languidly, reveling in each other, his hands covering her breasts, her hands lacing through his hair, neither of them able to stop the soft moans that seemed to come from the depths of their souls.

Still leaning back against the chaise, he bent his legs, which allowed her to recline against his thighs, a wanton act that nearly sent Matthew over the edge. "Goddamn, Mary," he gasped, "I could devour you." He watched with hooded eyes as Mary held his wrists and directed his hands over her body—caressing her neck, moving over her shoulders, running across her collarbones, fondling her breasts, finally stroking the bump that protected the culmination of their love. The intensity of his touch was riveting, and she reached forward grabbing his shoulders, bringing him forward into an embrace and then forcing him back against the chaise. Her legs trembling with her efforts, she moaned as Matthew continued to pump into her, his face at her breasts, his hands grasping her buttocks, leading her, teasing her, causing her to lose all control, sending her into the throes of an orgasm so powerful that she collapsed onto him quaking and pulsing and throbbing as he immediately cried out and went over.

Out of breath and sated and covered in a fine film of salty perspiration, they held each other, not moving, not speaking, barely able to move. Her hands grasped his hair; his hands played up and down her spine.

"Can we stay like this forever?" she asked in a throaty whisper.

"We may have to," he replied with a chuckle. "I'm not sure I ever want to move."

"I love you, you know."

"I do know, Mary, and I love you, so very much."

"That's good because you'll never be rid of me."

"And I'll be with you always."

* * *

By the time Matthew and Mary arrived at Château Grimaldi, the New Year's Eve party was in full swing. The music provided by Emilio "Don" Barreto and his Cuban Orchestra filled the air with a mix of swing melody and Cuban rhythm that flummoxed some dancers and thrilled the rest. Barreto had introduced the rumba to Parisian nightclubs, so his appearance at the party was considered quite a coup. Thanks to flowing champagne and plenteous bottles of fine liquor, spirits were high, and the room was filled with a cacophony of laughter and boisterous voices and general revelry.

One of the hostesses led Matthew and Mary through the raucous crowd to their table where party hats and noisemakers lay strewn about like so much flotsam after a storm. Once they were seated, Matthew ordered champagne for himself and sparkling water for Mary, who had decided to limit herself to a single glass of champagne at midnight. He leaned toward her and raised his voice, saying, "This is quite a celebration."

"It certainly is," replied Mary as she reached across the table to inspect two garish party hats. "It's rather a contrast from New Year's Eve at the Abbey. If I remember correctly, the loudest it ever got there was the chiming of the clock as it struck twelve." Looking about the room, she rather liked that the evening permitted the kind of pleasure-seeking behavior she'd only heard about second-hand.

Matthew laughed and nodded. In years past New Year's Eve meant a quiet, staid celebration—even copious amounts of champagne didn't raise the level of gaiety beyond the accepted limits of upper-class socializing within the Abbey's confines. As he watched the merrymaking around him, it occurred to Matthew he'd never really "celebrated" the incoming New Year. Even in Manchester in his pre-Downton days, New Year's Eve consisted of a quiet drink with his mother or a few friends, so he now looked forward to a different sort of celebration.

He glanced over at Mary and saw how her flushed cheeks and gleaming eyes caused her whole face to glow with excitement, and he realized that they both were entering a realm with which neither was particularly familiar. Oh, of course, they had enjoyed parties in the past, and, certainly, their time in London nightclubs had proved quite stimulating, but there was something about this atmosphere that seemed both alien and invigorating. Perhaps it was because they were well away from the restraints that governed their lives or because they were newly-married or because they were moving forward into uncharted territory—whatever it was, Matthew found himself relaxing and open to all the possibilities for enjoyment a night such as this offered. Just as he was preparing to invite Mary to the dance floor, Lord and Lady Raines, along with several other couples from the train, swooped into view and immediately overtook the table.

"Lord and Lady Grantham, why aren't you dancing?" howled Lady Maud Raines, obviously unaware of the volume of her voice, which had risen several decibels thanks to one too many cocktails. "It's a night to celebrate!" Letting go of her husband's arm, she plopped down beside Matthew and called to the rest of her party to take seats around the table. Pulling the bottle of champagne Matthew had ordered out of the silver bucket beside the table, she proceeded to pour herself a glass, ignoring the drips that trailed across her lap and onto the tabletop. "Isn't this party the cat's meow?" Her husband looked on dozily as she leaned towards Matthew and added in a voice she intended to sound sultry but which only confirmed her drunkenness, "And you're looking quite spiffy if I do say so myself." Reacting to Matthew's obvious discomfort, she added with a wink, "I take it you're not used to being around fast women!" and proceeded to announce to the table, "Everyone, doesn't Matthew look spiffy?" The rest of the female interlopers readily agreed, including one Lady Robelard whose eyes narrowed at the prospect of yet another conquest. She and Lady Raines exchanged knowing glances as their compatriots continued their revels—drinking, chatting, laughing, and generally enjoying the festivities—and they each recalled their earlier conversation on the train.

" _He's quite beautiful, isn't he?"_

" _He is, indeed, Flo. But she's likely to be a problem. Besides, I thought you had your sights set on Sir Lionel."_

" _A girl's allowed to change her mind—he's too delicious to pass up. As for his wife, I'm sure she can be distracted."_

" _And how do you propose to distract her?"_

" _Not me, darling, you."_

" _Me? Oh, no. The last time I performed that task I ended up with a bruise that didn't allow me to show my face for two weeks."_

" _Not to worry. By the time we get to Antibes, I'll have a plan that will ensure you are unscathed."_

" _Honestly, Flo, are you sure he's worth the trouble?"_

" _Oh, yes. Without a doubt."_

Florence Robelard was a twice-divorced woman with too much money and no moral compass. She used her good looks and loose morality to amass what could be termed a stable of lovers throughout France and Italy. Few men had the inclination to ignore her obvious willingness to explore the seamier side of sexuality, seeing that she promised debauchery and discretion. Of course, if push came to shove, she wasn't above using a little well-placed blackmail to achieve her objective. She always was on the lookout for new challenges, and Matthew's good looks and newly-married status appealed to her baser instincts. Judging from his obvious devotion to his new wife, she knew better than to pounce immediately. In his case subtlety would be the key—a slow and steady seduction seemed to be in order, for she believed he knew little, if anything, about the reputation that preceded her. Even if he weren't amenable to her advances, she had a repertoire of tricks and skills that usually served her well

Matthew looked helplessly at Mary, who did her best to look unfazed by Lady Raines's antics, but before she could respond to the goings on, she felt someone grasp her elbow. It was Lord Jameson from the train, one of the train's passengers she and Matthew had written off earlier as a scoundrel. "Lady Mary," he said roguishly, looking at her glass, "don't tell me you're a bun-strangler."

"I beg your pardon," she replied, confused by the slang term, unsure whether to be insulted; however, his leering gaze led her to believe she should be.

"I mean, it's New Year's Eve, and you're nursing a glass of water?" he asked incredulously. "That just won't do." He reached across the table to grab the champagne bottle, his sleeve brushing through the trail of water left by Lady Raines's earlier efforts. He attempted to grab her glass, which she quickly moved out of his reach.

"Thank you, sir, but I must refuse."

"Aw, c'mon, Lady Mary," he insisted. "It's almost the New Year. You don't wanna miss the fun, right?"

Before Mary could reply, Matthew took the bottle from him and said between clenched teeth, "You heard my wife, sir. She chooses not to have champagne right now." Turning to Mary, he said quietly, "Let's dance, my love," and he escorted her to the dance floor.

"Thank you for rescuing me, darling," Mary said as they moved smoothly across the floor to the strains of the rumba. "He obviously doesn't know how to take 'no' for an answer."

"Especially when he's had too much to drink," Matthew replied. "I suspect it won't be long before he's under the table, however."

They continued to dance to the pulsating rhythm, moving forward and backward as the music flowed over them. Matthew held Mary close, their discreet, expressive hip motion achieved by bending and straightening their legs as their weight moved from one leg to the other. They moved sensually as one entity, absorbing the music, feeling the tempo, lost in the connection forged by the Latin beat. Anyone who paid attention would recognize the intensity of their love, see how they fit together perfectly, realize how the music seemed to adjust itself to _their_ timing rather than the other way around.

Florence stood near the dance floor, her body partially obscured by an immense potted palm. Blinded as she was by her prurient obsession, Florence saw nothing but the perfection of Matthew's form and movement. For a moment it felt as if _she_ were in his arms, and she found her breath catching each time his hips moved just so. _Yes,_ she thought, _he'll be well worth the effort._

Their dance at an end, Matthew and Mary stood in hold for a moment, each pair of eyes locked into the depths of the other's until, finally, they broke and walked back to their table. It was nearing midnight, and the table was all but deserted. Lord Raines sat slumped in his chair, his chin on his chest, his left hand still clutching the stem of a champagne glass perched precariously on the edge of the table. His wife was long gone, no doubt in search of a partner with whom she could greet the New Year. Two women whose names Mary and Matthew could not remember sat huddled together, laughing raucously at nothing while Lord Jameson sat unmoving, his head resting in a puddle of some unidentifiable liquid that had been spilt on the table.

The noise level in the room increased as midnight approached. Frenzied dancers no longer limited themselves to the dance floor but spread themselves throughout the room, including on the tops of some tables. Matthew and Mary laughed at the efforts of a particularly effusive gentleman who lurched around the room attempting to sell kisses to anyone who was unfortunate enough to cross his path. Matthew managed to procure a bottle of champagne from a harried waiter who had been almost hogtied with streamers, and he hid it beneath the table lest someone wrench it from his hands.

"This is madness," laughed Mary. "People who normally would abhor this sort of behavior are willing participants." She ducked just as a woman's legs barely missed her head, the result of her being carried off to parts unknown by an over-eager suitor.

"It _is_ madness," replied Matthew. "Do you suppose we'd be acting this way if we had imbibed more and danced less?"

"I doubt it," she replied. "Neither of us would allow the other to behave so outrageously. I suppose because we've been so well-trained."

"Oh, I don't know," he mused with a smile. "You weren't particularly restrained this afternoon."

She leaned into him and caressed his face tenderly. "I'm only unrestrained in your presence, my darling. Making a public spectacle of myself just isn't in the cards, I'm afraid."

"I can say with all honesty that that's one of the reasons I love you."

"Hmmm. You may tell me the other reasons when we get back to the villa," she replied, raising her eyebrow and smiling seductively.

"I thought I already had, but I'm perfectly willing to communicate them again."

Suddenly, the crowd began counting down the final minute, so Matthew poured two glasses of champagne, handing one to Mary and taking the other for himself. The gong sounded, noisemakers blew, balloons fell, the crowd cheered, and the orchestra struck up a stylized version of "Auld Lang Syne." After each took a sip of champagne, Matthew's arms went around Mary's waist and hers encircled his neck as they kissed deeply. "I love you," they uttered simultaneously, each smiling at their shared sentiment.

The next moment they found themselves being pulled into a circle around the dance floor, joining hands with other revelers who were singing the familiar lyrics at the tops of their lungs. They looked at each other, shrugged, and joined in, enjoying the experience. Mary found herself holding hands with the aforementioned kiss-seller, who leered at her before being jerked to attention by his wife who obviously was perturbed by his behavior. She looked over to see whose hand Matthew was holding and was surprised to see Lady Robelard standing there holding Matthew's hand against her chest, for she had not seen her since much earlier that evening. Once the final verse had been sung, the revelers moved outdoors for the fireworks display, and Matthew took Mary's hand and led her to an empty space on the terrace.

Kaleidoscopes of color, columns, and swirls burst in the sky, and when Matthew turned to look at Mary, he saw her eyes were glowing. Detonations resounded, matching the pounding of his heart as he gazed at her. Sensing his ardor, she turned to him and for a moment, she lost her breath. They came together in a blazing kiss as a crescendo of white lights tumbled and exploded across the sky.


	38. Chapter 38

" _You cannot be serious."_

" _Oh, but I am."_

" _But…but don't you realize how dangerous it could be?"_

" _Not if it's applied sparingly. The worst that will happen is she'll be indisposed for a few days."_

" _This is beyond the pale. She's pregnant, Flo."_

" _I realize that. I've been assured it will have no effect on the child."_

" _I don't like it. I don't like it at all."_

* * *

Matthew and Mary spent the first week of their honeymoon exploring the playground that was the area around Juan-les-Pins. Mornings were spent sleeping late, enjoying leisurely breakfasts, and planning their afternoons. In the evenings, they attended a few cocktail parties, having garnered the attention of the area's elite. People with whom they'd come into contact found the attractive couple personable and interesting, so efforts were made to include them in the nightly activities enjoyed by both residents and visitors alike. The Earl and Countess had made quite a good impression on aristocrats interested in fostering friendships that might be beneficial in the future. For Matthew and Mary, however, socializing was not a means to an end—they would have been perfectly content to be left alone—but they accepted invitations graciously, albeit reluctantly at times.

They realized the remaining three weeks would be taken up by social events if they didn't exercise control, so they resolved to limit the number of invitations they would accept. Time alone, especially after days filled with activity, was important to them, mainly because the sheer decadence of having access to each other twenty-four hours a day was something both had coveted. In the paradise that was the Riviera, they had found themselves exploring the depths of their feelings for each other and had enjoyed discovering bits and pieces of personal information about each other daily.

He realized her love of art— how she developed gooseflesh when poring over the brushstrokes left by Monet or Matisse, how she saw the nuances of a seemingly simple painting, how her eyes misted when faced with the intensity of color. He learned much from her as they roamed the galleries and stalls in Antibes and elsewhere. He thought it interesting that an artist's name was less significant to her than the talent displayed on a canvas. A painting worth hundreds of pounds was as meaningful to her as one purchased from an artist who sold his wares in the market. She had taken for granted the art that had surrounded her while growing up in the Abbey and while living in London, but being able to see the actual inspirations for artwork with which she was familiar opened her heart. Matthew knew shipping home the paintings they'd purchased would cost a formidable sum, but it would be worth every penny if he could see that light in her eyes every time she looked at one of them.

As for Mary, Matthew's interest in people came as somewhat of a revelation. He made it a point to show a sincere interest in the people they'd met. He never seemed to forget a face or a name and gathered admiration from those with whom they came into contact. His geniality and charm were magnets, and he was always smiling, always interested, always eager to make the acquaintance of both locals and tourists. She never had thought of him as particularly jolly, yet his laughter proved to be contagious, no matter where they were. She had not thought it possible, but she fell more in love with him as each day passed—if he were asked, he would credit his happiness solely to her, for his joy for living had long lay dormant until she came back into his life.

Most afternoons were spent sightseeing, either on their own or with Nicolas as their guide. He took them to the oldest part of Antibes, pointing out sites such as the Place du Revély, the chapel of Saint-Bernardin, and the Saracen Towers, regaling them with stories about scandals and rogues and escapades. He served as their unofficial photographer, as well, encouraging them to scale hillsides, to pose playfully against statues, and to venture into the surf, all the while shouting at them to give him " _juste un photo de plus_. _"_ Upon their return to the villa, Mary would rest and Matthew would take one of the bicycles and ride the coastal trails on his own for an hour or so, discovering sites he knew would be of interest to her the following day—one day he found a sun swept overlook on a hillside above the Mediterranean, a place perfect for a picnic.

They departed the villa in the mid-morning to make their purchases. Matthew carried a handmade basket Mary had purchased the day before in a little shop near the flower market, and they walked hand-in-hand through the picturesque shopping area in search of food for the picnic they'd planned. They strolled among long rows of tables displaying a cornucopia of cheeses, olives, oils, and bright vegetables and fruits, honeys and jams. They visited a local _boulangerie_ , purchasing a freshly-baked loaf of crusty bread and then moved to the _rotisserie_ next door. It was difficult to choose among the available hot dishes, but they finally decided on paella after tasting a sample. Charmed by the couple's indecision and obvious affection, with a wink the gray-haired proprietress included two glass plates and two forks, and, returning the wink, Matthew promised to return them unscathed. She directed them to a wine shop, hidden away down an alley, where they purchased a too-expensive bottle of _Châteauneuf-du-Pape._ Much to Mary's amusement, Matthew asked the shop owner to include two paper cups and a corkscrew with the purchase, which Mary quickly stuffed into the bottom of the basket. A nearby cheese shop was next, and the couple purchased a few slices of prosciutto and a small wedge of cheese. As they headed away from the shops, Matthew stopped suddenly and sniffed the air. "Dessert!" he exclaimed as he pulled Mary into a _chocolatier_. Mary looked longingly at a _tarte aux framboises,_ a petite custard-filled pastry with sugared raspberries piled neatly on top, while Matthew eyed the pastries. Their choices finally made, armed with their purchases, they headed off in the Renault towards the hillside. Once there, Matthew led her to the overlook, set down the bulging basket, and took her in his arms, her back to his chest.

"It's perfect, Matthew. However did you find this place?"

"I was testing my mettle on the trail and finally had to stop for a rest. I caught sight of the water and stumbled upon it as I was looking for some shade. Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes. It's perfect. It's hard to believe that it's winter in Downton. The weather here is so perfect."

"It is if you don't count the occasional rainy afternoons," he replied.

"Hmmm. Even those have been pleasant," she noted.

"Indeed they have," he whispered as he nuzzled her neck.

Finally breaking the embrace, Matthew laid out a blanket, and they arranged the foodstuffs, ending up with what looked like a veritable feast spread out before them.

"I believe our eyes were bigger than our stomachs," Matthew said, breaking off a piece of bread and eyeing the cheese as he watched Mary fill his plate with the steaming paella.

"You may be right," replied Mary, "but I've learned you're not averse to eating leftovers, so…"

"Absolutely right," he replied as he uncorked the wine. "I've become fond of midnight snacking, as you well know."

Mary blushed and looked down, remembering the first time René caught them in the kitchen in the middle of the night after a particularly strenuous round of lovemaking. Each evening thereafter, he made sure food was laid out appealingly in case the couple, as he put it, "required a midnight repast."

After what Matthew pronounced "a capital lunch," they spent the afternoon in each other's arms snuggling a bit, watching sailboats glide along the water, and talking about nothing and everything. The afternoon sun warmed them as they stared at the clouds dotting the cerulean sky.

"It absolutely is a horse, Matthew. Look." She pointed above her head. "There's its mane."

"I don't think so." He tilted his head. "Looks more like a giraffe. No horse has a neck that long."

"Oh, Matthew. Everything's so black and white with you. Use your imagination." She settled into his arms, letting her eyes wander up to his. "Matthew?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Don't you think we should talk about names for the baby?" She smiled as his hands went to her belly immediately, resting gently on the bump they both treasured.

"I've already told you, I'm not too particular. I just don't want a boy to be burdened with my name."

"I don't understand why not," replied Mary. "'Matthew' is such a lovely name."

"Nevertheless, I don't want our son saddled with my name. Think of the confusion that would ensue. I'd rather he have a name of his own—something that's not connected to either of our families. That way, he can be his own man."

"You realize, of course, that _she_ might feel differently," snorted Mary, pulling away from him and sitting up. "There's no guarantee I'm carrying a boy."

"In which case, I'll be just as thrilled." He thought for a moment. "If the child's a girl, how about 'Marie' in honor of our host country?"

"Oh, no! If there's to be no 'Matthew,' there won't be a 'Mary,' either."

"But 'Marie'…"

"Is the French version of 'Mary.' I can be stubborn, too."

"I'm discovering that more and more, my darling," Matthew said with a chuckle. He pulled her back into his arms, and they lay silently, watching the clouds drift aimlessly across the bright azure sky.

* * *

Later that afternoon while Mary lay down to rest, Matthew was bicycling on a treacherous path that ran next to a private villa, and he found himself on the ground after skidding over loose gravel that had been scattered to facilitate drainage. Initially, only his ego was bruised when he saw that one of the bicycle's rims was bent, the tire flat. When he rose and brushed himself off, however, his right knee began to throb. Looking down at his torn trousers, he saw the blood and groaned. Mary had warned him about being too careless, and now the proof of it would be undeniable. He righted the bicycle and began to walk it back down the path, the throbbing in his knee becoming more pronounced with each step, blood now saturating his trousers.

He heard the motor before he saw it and moved off the road, hoping to avoid the gaze of someone who might recognize his ineptness, but the motor stopped beside him, and the door opened to reveal the figures sitting in the rear seat—Lady Raines and Lady Robelard.

"My goodness," exclaimed Lady Raines, "whatever happened?"

"Oh, I just had a spill. No harm done."

"From the looks of your trousers, it was more than a 'little spill,'" said Lady Robelard. "Maud, I'm sure you have some bandages and ointment inside, don't you?"

"Of course. Lord Grantham, I insist that you let us minister to you. Please, come inside."

"It's not necessary, Lady Raines…"

"Maud, please, and I insist. I won't hear of your returning to your villa before your injury is taken care of. Now, please, get into the motor. Jenkins will see to your bicycle."

Reluctantly, Matthew climbed into the motor and found himself sitting between the two women. He gave each an awkward grin as the motor got underway, heading up the drive to the villa.

"How fortunate you had your accident so near Maud's house," said Lady Robelard, unable to hide her delight at such a fortunate occurrence. "We'll get you taken care of in no time."

 _That's what I'm afraid of_ , thought Matthew wryly. At the soireés he and Mary had attended, neither woman had failed to hide her interest in him, which made him uncomfortable and caused Mary to be rather annoyed. Explaining this to her was going to take a great deal of finesse on his part.

Once inside the villa's drawing room, Maud unceremoniously pushed him down onto a loveseat where Florence already was seated. She then rang for her butler, gave him instructions for the supplies she needed, and then returned to kneel before Matthew. Before he could protest, she had pulled up his trouser leg and gasped when she saw the damage to his knee.

"Oh, my, Lord Grantham, or may I call you 'Matthew'?"

"Uh, 'Matthew,' please," he replied, growing more uneasy by the minute. The throbbing in his knee forgotten, he suddenly was aware that Lady Robelard's hand was on his shoulder. He pulled away gradually just as the butler entered with a basin of water followed by a footman carrying a tray laden with cloths, rolls of gauze, and a tube of ointment. Maud proceeded to clean Matthew's knee, which continued to bleed, and inspected the wound.

"I think you might do well to see a doctor. This looks as if it might need a stitch or two." She turned to the butler before Matthew could protest. "Jacques, telephone Doctor Simkins and ask him to come over with his bag. Tell him Lord Grantham has been injured."

"Really, I don't think…"

"Hush, Matthew," said Florence firmly, her hand moving to his back. "You don't want to risk an infection or incapacitation."

"I hardly think…"

"I insist," stated Maud, as she continued to clean the wound. "Besides, it's no trouble. William Simkins and his wife are in the villa just next door. He won't mind a bit seeing to you, I'm sure. In the meantime, Jacques, would you bring us some tea?"

Matthew settled back against the loveseat, still uncomfortable but resigned to his fate.

"And where is your lovely wife? Don't tell me you're already estranged," laughed Florence, a hint of hopefulness in her voice.

"She's resting this afternoon. We had quite an excursion earlier today," Matthew replied, realizing that Mary would be expecting his return any minute. He debated about whether to ask to use the telephone, thought better of it, and resolved to face the consequences upon his return to their villa.

"Oh? Have you been seeing the sights?" asked Maud. "I'm afraid I've been here so often I no longer find sightseeing to be of interest. I do love the area, but the vista has become rather too familiar, I suppose."

"It's their first time here, dear," snipped Florence. "Of course they want to sightsee. I don't suppose they're interested in being holed up in the villa their entire visit, as tempting as it might be." Her eyes not leaving Matthew's face, she added brazenly, "Although I must admit there are circumstances when I might give in to temptation."

Too much of a gentleman to snap at her insinuation, Matthew was about to stand and make his way out of the villa when a rotund, red-faced man carrying a bag entered the room. Matthew recognized him from one of the cocktail parties he and Mary had attended earlier in the week, and he groaned inwardly. The doctor had struck him as rather pompous, thanks to his never-ending referrals to his "important position" in Swindon. What he neglected to reveal was that this "exalted" position was that of company doctor for the Great Western Railway, his sole responsibility being the treating of the railway works' employees. That he was able to take a holiday to the Riviera was due mainly to his wife's inheritance and his willingness to fall further into debt.

Maud jumped up and greeted the doctor. "Ah, William, thank you for coming so quickly. You remember Lord Grantham, don't you? I'm afraid he and his bicycle parted ways, and he has a rather nasty wound on his knee."

"Good to see you again, Grantham," he fawned, pleased to curry favor with a member of the aristocracy. "Well, let's have a look." He bent over with some effort and used a cloth saturated with alcohol to clear away more of the blood that now was oozing from the wound. "It's fairly superficial, so I don't think stitches are in order." With that he applied some ointment from his bag, applied a bandage, and wrapped the knee with a long strip of gauze. "You should be good as new in a few days. In the meantime, keep it dry and replace the bandage daily. Avoid strenuous activity and let me know if you have any problems." He rose to his feet with a grunt. "Now, if there's nothing else, my wife is expecting me home. We're to dine with the Spencers this evening, and it's quite a trek." He departed the room with a flourish, leaving Matthew and the ladies alone once again.

Matthew thanked them for their trouble, rose from the loveseat, and said to Maud, "I must be going, too. I'm sure Mary is wondering where I am. I appreciate your kindness, Maud. You, too, Florence. I assume we'll see you at the Gladstone's party later this week?"

"I'm sure you will," replied Maud. "We'll look forward to it."

"Yes. Absolutely," added Florence. "Please give your wife our regards and tell her I'll be contacting her soon about joining us for a luncheon early next week. I assume you won't mind?"

"Mind? Why should I? I'm sure she would enjoy it very much."

"Oh, she definitely will, Matthew. She definitely will," replied Florence with a smirk.

* * *

By the time Matthew made it back to the villa, Mary was beside herself with worry, envisioning all sorts of calamities that might have befallen him, for he was over an hour late. When he entered the great room bedraggled and limping, she rushed to him, saying, "My God, Matthew! What happened? Are you all right? I've been so worried!"

"I'm fine." He saw the doubt in her eyes and said, "Truly. I'm sorry, my darling. I hit a rough patch and took a tumble. I was on my way here when Lady Raines and Lady Robelard spotted me and insisted that I let them help."

Mary's eyebrow skyrocketed. "I'll just bet they did."

"No, no, they were very helpful." He refrained from mentioning Florence's obvious efforts to attract his interest, knowing the time for mentioning that bit of information had not yet arrived. "Do you remember William Simkins?"

"The doctor from Swindon?"

"The very same. He and his wife are in the villa next to Maud's…er…Lady Raines's. She called him, and he treated my knee. Did a fine job, actually. Um, do you mind if we sit?" His throbbing knee was proving to be a distraction.

Mary chose to ignore Matthew's reference to Lady Raines's given name and responded, "Oh, my darling! Right this way." Mary took his arm and led him to one of the couches in front of the grand lounge's windows. She rang for René, who promptly brought tea and some of the leftover pastries from their picnic.

Matthew rested his head on the back of the couch and watched as Mary inspected his torn trousers. "I'm not certain these can be repaired, darling. That's quite a tear, and the bloodstain is rather large."

"No matter," Mary responded. "If need be, we can purchase another pair." She paused for a moment and then said as casually as she could manage, "So…the Ladies Raines and Robelard came to your rescue."

"I wouldn't say that exactly, Mary. It was an ambush, more like. As I said, I was on my way here when they drove up in Lady Raines's motor. They insisted I needed treatment. That was all. It was kind of them, actually."

"Very kind, no doubt. I'm sure they were thrilled to have you to themselves, no matter the circumstances."

"Now, Mary. What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that those two, especially Lady Robelard, look at you as if you were some sort of confection, and…"

Matthew's laughter stopped her in mid-sentence. "My darling, don't tell me you're jealous."

"Not jealous, exactly, just annoyed that they feel as if there's nothing wrong with slavering over another woman's husband—and her _new_ husband, at that."

"Well, you needn't worry that I'll do anything in response other than feel either uncomfortable or amused."

"Which were you today?"

Matthew paused for a moment. "Uncomfortable, if I'm to be honest. But only with Lady Robelard. She was as attentive today as she was on the train."

"You mean she couldn't keep her hands off you."

"Well, for a while." He looked annoyed at the memory. "I managed to shake her off, though. Oh, and she and Lady Raines send their regards and plan to invite you to luncheon early next week."

Mary mulled over that bit of information and said snidely, "Are you sure that invitation wasn't meant for you?"

* * *

Because Simkins had told him to keep his wound dry, a shower was out of the question, so Matthew eased himself into a shallow bath, bending his knee gingerly, and washed off the grime of the day. While Matthew bathed, Mary sat at the writing desk in the sitting room just off the bedroom. She had meant to write Sybil sooner, but having Matthew around as a pleasant distraction had thwarted her efforts. Finally resolved to fulfill her promise to describe the Riviera in detail, she began, filling the letter with descriptions of the villa and its surroundings. She almost hated for Sybil to have to read about such luxury, seeing that her life with Tom probably never would lend itself to such an experience; however, Mary knew that Sybil was perfectly contented with her lot, so she continued— _Oh, Sybil, I cannot tell you how beautiful the view is from our terrace. The Mediterranean is a crisp, vibrant blue, and the sand is such a brilliant white it quite takes my breath away. Actually views from anywhere in the area truly are spectacular when the sun plays with the colors of the sea. Being able to stand looking at such perfection is a thrill. Despite the fact that it is January, the weather is quite balmy compared to what we're used to. We've taken to dining_ al fresco _simply because it's such a novelty to do so this time of year. Our days are filled with pleasure—walking on the promenade, finding shells on our private beach, dining on fresh seafood (and there are other pleasures as well, naturally!)—I think I could stay forever were it not for missing the familiarity of Downton. Of course, without Matthew here to share this with me, I wouldn't be so effusive. You know how I had accepted my lot when I was in London? That time seems so long ago—realizing a dream years after it first appeared is a kind of miracle. I do love him so very much…_

* * *

The day following Matthew's accident, he and Mary spent a quiet day at the villa to give his knee a rest since they had agreed to meet some acquaintances that evening at the _Casino Municipal_ for dinner and dancing. After lunch, insisting that his knee would benefit from a stretch, Matthew convinced Mary to take a stroll through the garden, and they ended up sitting on a bench that offered a vantage point from which they could observe both the villa and the sea.

"Do you suppose Scott and Zelda ever sat here looking at the same view?" asked Mary, her head leaning on Matthew's shoulder, his arm around her waist. "I should like to think so."

"I suspect they did at some point although from what Nicolas has told us, their most recent visit was quite contentious." He kissed the top of her head and continued, "It seems a shame not to enjoy this place every minute."

Clouds began to gather, and before the rain started, Matthew led Mary back to the villa. Something in the air enveloped them—sparks of electricity whirled around them—and wordlessly they climbed the stairs to their suite. Neither could have identified the force that surrounded them. Whether it was a kind of urgent desperation precipitated by a distant rumble of thunder or the fierce desire that smoldered inside each of them, they didn't know. All they did know was urgency and need and desire.

As they lay writhing and breathless in the sanctuary of their bed, the sheer curtains that covered the doors and windows blew into the room, and a cool draught with the scent of rain flowed over them. His kisses, alternating between scorching and reverential, made their way along her jawline and down her neck, and she nestled into the pillows lost in the sensations he created with his lips.

"So perfect," she whispered as she ran her hands along the solid strength of his back, her nails sending spurs of pleasure surging through his body.

The resonance of thunder moved closer, and the breeze blew more forcefully.

He hissed when her fingernails dug into his back as she tried to bring him closer. "Don't stop," he whispered, "I love that you want me, too."

The rain began to come down in sheets, the downpour muffling their ragged breaths as lips, tongues, and hands created new road maps around their bodies, exploring each peak, each valley, each curve, each direction. An odyssey of sensation overtook them, and they rolled and turned across the pristine sheets that rustled in their wake.

"Matthew," she breathed as the distant rumbling continued, unsure how much longer she would last, the sensations so intense.

The smell, the feel, the sounds of their lovemaking surrounded them in an ecstatic haze. Hands grasped, legs moved, bodies thrashed, mouths savored as they came together, unable to control the craving, the urgency that threatened to overwhelm them.

His mouth traveled over her body, tasting her flushed, salty skin. Ardent, passionate, sensual, _pure_ love flowed through him as his fingers found her center. "My Mary" became an incantation that echoed in the room.

He groaned as he pushed into her. "Yes," she breathed, closing her eyes, "like that."

The draught was unrelenting—blowing over them, cooling their skin, while sensuous, carnal, searing pleasure overtook them until their bodies fairly resonated with desire.

His urgency intensified hers, and she clung to him desperately as he continued to plunge into her, each thrust creating a kind of carnal intoxication that overtook her and heightened her senses.

"I'll never get enough of you," was whispered.

"Whatever you need—forever," was the reply.

Her heart stuttered; pleasure seared his body as his hands and mouth found her breasts.

The downpour muffled their moans of pleasure, roaring around them as they moved as one.

"You're my life. I wouldn't be able to live without you," she moaned.

"You're everything," he replied breathlessly. "Just let go, Mary, let go."

Unable to hold back, she exploded, shouting his name, her body trembling and quaking, still on fire, still responding to the sensations created by the onslaught for which she had hungered.

He throbbed and pulsed, spasms fomenting his release as her inner muscles contracted, His shudders ebbing only when her contractions lessened.

His name lingered in the air.

The downpour continued.


	39. Chapter 39

_I've been overwhelmed by your response to my story. I appreciate your reviews and kind comments and thank all of you so very much._

* * *

The idyllic town of Grasse was twenty kilometres inland from the _Côte d'Azur_ , and the heady scents of lavender, jasmine, myrtle, rose, orange blossom, and wild mimosa blowing in from nearby fields in the summer growing season offered hints about what lay ahead. Driving past field after field rife with various shades of lavender was a visual feast, as well, for Grasse was known far and wide as the perfume capital of the world. As Matthew steered the motor past the empty fields, he resolved he and Mary would return someday in order to experience the sensual beauty of the fields that supplied rare scents to _parfumeries_ around the world. Even months after the harvest, the scents lingered, no doubt because the ground had been saturated with the fragrances for generations, so he and Mary found themselves breathing in the fragrant air as they passed the fields. The rolling hills around the town afforded Matthew and Mary many stunning views, and when they entered the town, Matthew navigated the narrow, winding streets until finally stopping at the entrance to a perfume factory whose structure, according to a plaque affixed to a gate, had been designed by Gustave Eiffel.

"Here we are!" announced Matthew, jumping from the motor and running around to Mary's side to open her door.

"Exactly where is 'here'?" asked Mary as she stepped from the motor. She couldn't imagine why Matthew had brought her to such an old building. He'd been very secretive about this particular trek, refusing to answer her questions and smiling impishly when she whinged about being kept in the dark.

"This, my darling, is Molinard. We're about to learn all about the mysteries of how a perfume is made, from the raw materials to the perfume itself."

Mary's mouth opened in amazement. She was familiar with Molinard's perfumes, often alternating them with her beloved No. 5. She took Matthew's arm and entered the factory's cavernous showroom where they were greeted by a "Nose," who welcomed them and led them into a small laboratory. "Madame," said the Nose, whose name was André Proulx, a third-generation Nose who greeted them with a smile, "you are here to create a fragrance just your own, _non_?"

Mary looked questioningly at Matthew, who replied, "Yes, we're here for your private tarinology workshop and factory tour." He turned to Mary. "Someone as beautiful as you ought to have her own perfume, so…"

André said, " _Absolument_ ," just as Mary took Matthew's face in her hands and kissed him, leaving him grinning idiotically.

"Oh, Matthew, how thrilling! What a lovely surprise!" she exclaimed. André invited her to sit before a revolving perfume organ so she could select the essences to personalize the perfume of her dreams. "How on Earth can I choose?" she said to André, who stood by ready to help in the selection.

"Well, Madame, think of the scents that most attract you." He pointed dramatically to the organ. "As you can see, the bottles are labeled with the name of each essence. You're wearing No. 5, which has jasmine, rose, lily of the valley, and iris, while the base is created of vetiver, sandalwood, vanilla, amber, and patchouli, so we might start there." His skill established by identifying the ingredients of her favorite perfume, André sat beside Mary as the organ revolved before her, and she finally pulled several small brown bottles from the device. Andre opened each and placed small strips of paper into the bottles and handed them to Mary. With Andre's guidance, she and Matthew discovered the architecture of a scent, the ingredients that composed it, and those components that complemented or contrasted with one another. Mary's choices included acacia, lavender, apricot, ginger, and sandalwood. Matthew added rose essence, along with camellia and cardamom.

By the time they had chosen their favorite scents, both Mary and Matthew were totally confused, laughing that the final product was likely to result in a mishmash of olfactory confusion. André assured them _Parfum de Mary_ would be exotic and delightful, so they placed an order for both perfume and lotion. To their disappointment, he told them it would take months for the fragrance to be created, but he provided Mary with a bottle of Habanita, Molinard's most popular fragrance, which was stored in a Lalique flask.

André escorted them back to the showroom, which housed a magnificent collection of 17th and 18th century furniture, where Mary selected three Lalique flasks and two Baccarat jars for her perfume and lotion. From there André escorted them to the factory itself, which provided a fascinating look into the mechanics of perfume making. The tour completed, they said their goodbyes, André promising to give Mary's perfume his personal attention.

On their way back into the quaint town, they passed shops and cafés, finally parking the motor outside a small bistro advertising Provençal cuisine. They ordered two bowls of bouillabaisse, and the seafood stew—loaded with clams, shrimp, crab, and fish—arrived in wide-lipped bowls accompanied by crusty baguettes.

At one point during the meal, Matthew leaned back in his chair and muttered, "If only Mrs. Patmore had access to fresh seafood. This is the most delicious meal I've had since we've been here."

"I agree," replied Mary, "although I'm sure Dr. Clarkson would frown at the amount of seafood I've eaten. Still, I've stayed away from swordfish and tuna." She had taken Dr. Clarkson's warnings to heart and also had avoided foods both Sybil and Anna told her might create discomfort. To her great relief, the local cuisine had caused few problems. "You know, Matthew," she said, "at the rate I've been eating, you won't recognize me by the end of this trip."

Matthew looked up from his bowl. "There's not much chance of that, my love." He eyed her slyly, "But I _have_ noticed your voracious appetite."

"Don't be vulgar," she whispered, adding, "I'm serious, Matthew. I already can tell I've put on weight. I have no idea what I'll be able to wear from day to day. I don't know what I'll wear to Lady Robelard's luncheon tomorrow that doesn't announce my pregnancy to the world."

"You don't have to go, you know."

"Of course I do if for no other reason than to make it clear that her and Lady Raines's advances towards you aren't appreciated…or permissible."

"Really, Mary, I've given them no reason to think…"

"I realize that, darling, but I plan to make it clear that you're mine, body and soul. Sometimes it takes a forceful stance to make one's feelings crystal clear."

* * *

Matthew awoke early on the first morning of their second week in Juan-les-Pins. Perhaps it was because he'd had a dream, perhaps it was because Mary had sought his warmth in her sleep, perhaps it was because he anticipated another day in paradise—whatever it was, he was brought into the present by the sight of Mary's face in repose. He loved watching her sleep; he never tired of seeing the curve of her hip, the arch of her back, the slope of her breast, her skin reminiscent of the color of sweet cream as she lay peacefully oblivious to his wonderment. These images were among the many things about her that were imprinted on his heart, and every time he looked at her, he thanked God she finally was his, for there was a time, not so long ago, when he believed such a thing to be impossible.

She stirred slightly, the result of the breeze and morning sunlight slipping into the room and the sensation of his warm skin against hers, and when she finally opened her eyes, she was met with the bright blue eyes of her beloved looking down at her. "You were staring at me again, weren't you?" she asked sleepily.

"Yes," he said, "I love watching you sleep." He leaned in and kissed her tenderly. She stretched and felt his breath on her skin just before he pressed a gentle kiss into her bare shoulder. "Good morning, beautiful." He wrapped his arms around her, and she felt his erection against her hip. The morning shadows marked her body as he stroked her from hip to neck—up and down…up and down…up and down—his hand leaving a trail of warmth that caused her body to undulate in response. Lingering at her breast, her belly, her core, his fingers traveled indolently over her silken skin as she snaked her leg over his hip. "I love waking up with you," he murmured into her neck.

Her lips dragged across his cheek and found his mouth, and they melted into each other as they always did. She pushed him onto his back, straddled him, leaned forward, and slowly lifted his hands above his head, never breaking the kiss, the connection, which inevitably led to the rhythmic movements that had become so instinctive yet remained so mysterious. Rising to her knees, she grasped his throbbing member, placed it against her core, and then sank onto him slowly, bit by tantalizing bit, until he was fully inside her…filling her…completing her. Their eyes met, their bodies relaxed, and their movement ceased just for a moment as they luxuriated in the wantonness of their desire. They'd had an adventurous evening of lovemaking the night before, the evidence of which lay strewn about the room—ties, scarves, pillows, empty glassware, wilted flower stems—serving as a sensuous reminder of their voraciousness. The contrast of that frenzied activity with their languid morning lovemaking was not lost on either of them; in fact, they relished the variety that was a direct result of their love for each other. Each tryst left them sated but longing for more.

She began to move, her fingers laced with his. She pushed herself off him and then slid back down slowly, repeating the movements in a rhythm that made him groan at the sensation created by their shared arousal. Lowering her head, she kissed him deeply, her hips circling, rolling, until, finally, she sat upright with him embedded deeply inside her. In the dappled morning light, his bare torso glowed like burnished gold, and she ran her hands across his chest, humming his name, feeling his power, thanking the gods that he belonged only to her.

"God help me, I love you so," he rumbled, as he raised his hips, pushing up until he could go no further, filling her, feeling her, all conscious thought leaving him as he rolled to the side without breaking their connection. He then lifted her gently, placing her body beneath his, and continued to thrust into her slowly—his hands beneath her hips, pulling her into him, his lips brushing the curve of her neck. Her fingers stroked the length of his spine and moved to his hips, urging him on—craving…aching…longing for _la petite mort_ that lay just on the horizon.

The fragrance of sex rose around them like a sensual aura as they each crested to releases so powerful their limbs threatened to remain immobile from the intensity of their coupling. A film of perspiration covered them both, the sheets were damp, and their breaths were shallow. Both struggled to recover their senses, resting for a while in the bliss of satiety. Matthew held his wife in his arms, his eyes closed, his breathing steady, his mind at peace.

"Matthew?"

"Um hm."

"Oh, wait! There's the flutter." Her hand went to her belly, and Matthew's hand immediately covered hers. After a moment, she said, "There. All done. This child certainly has been particularly active lately."

"I wonder if all this activity is a sign of future behavior," said Matthew. He hardly could wait to feel the evidence for himself. Having to suffer through Mary's descriptions made him impatient and envious.

"Could be," Mary laughed. "He or she may take after you. Goodness knows you seem to enjoy physical activity."

He wrapped her tighter in his arms. "I do indeed, Lady Grantham. Now, what were you going to ask me before?"

Mary pushed aside an errant lock of hair from her face and nestled into Matthew's side. "Do you think I should sell the London properties?"

Matthew raised his head and looked at her in surprise. "That's an interesting topic of conversation first thing in the morning, Mary. What brought this on?"

"I've been giving this a great deal of thought. Since I've been back at Downton, Stuart has taken on more and more responsibility for their management, and once the baby arrives, it's unlikely we'll travel to London very often."

"Aren't you happy with the job Stuart is doing?"

"Of course. He's quite capable. It's just that I used to keep a close eye on those properties, but now…"

"Now you've been, shall we say, distracted?"

"Yes. Perhaps selling the properties and investing the money in the Abbey's upkeep might be the prudent thing to do."

"Mary, far be it from me to tell you what to do, but there's plenty of money available for the Abbey—our investments are sound, despite the recent fluctuations in the world market. Those London properties are extremely valuable and should remain so long term. You made some savvy purchases, my dear. Didn't you tell me Josiah Stamp told you your properties were some of the most valuable in London?" Mary nodded. "That's high praise coming from England's foremost economist. As long as you're happy with the job Stuart is doing, I see no point in selling them."

"Perhaps when we're next in London, we can meet with Stuart and see if he thinks we should hire a full-time manager to oversee the properties. As adept as Stuart is, I can't expect him to tend to my properties exclusively. He does have other clients."

"That's a good idea, Mary. Why don't I write him today and set up an appointment with him when we get to London in three weeks? We can stay over before returning to Downton."

"What a good idea. Thank you, darling." Mary settled back into his arms, marveling at how her priorities had changed in the course of less than a year. It wasn't that long ago that selling her properties never would have entered her mind because they were the source of her greatest satisfaction. Now, thanks to Matthew, she hardly gave them a thought.

* * *

"Damn."

Mary stood at the full-length mirror in her dressing area, pulling on the side seams of third frock she'd tried on that morning.

"Damn."

She was expected at Lady Robelard's for luncheon in an hour, and thanks to her growing waistline, finding something to wear that didn't scream "pregnant" was becoming more and more difficult. When Sabine Mercier brought Mary's trousseau to the Abbey, Mary had asked her to let out some seams, but Sabine had limited time and could not complete all the alterations. Now Mary was faced with finding a frock that fit well and didn't call attention to her bump.

She finally settled on a full, wide-leg, one-piece garment with a matching long scarf coat that tied at the neckline. The fashionable beach pyjamas had a deep V front, wide-leg pants that hung straight at the bottom, and an attached waist wrap. The bright rose silk flattered her skin tone, and as she looked at herself critically in the mirror, she decided that she rather liked the chic outfit. _If Granny could see me now, whatever would she say?_ she thought to herself, grinning at the reaction such a garment would provoke at the Abbey. She had noticed women seemed to wear garments such as this one to all sorts of social activities in Juan-les-Pins, so she felt confident she would not feel out of place at the luncheon, seeing that her luncheon companions seemed to embrace the new styles with abandon. She turned from the mirror and sat on the bench to don her Pluchino T-straps. She loved the shoe's fluted heels and cutouts and knew they added the finishing touch to her stylish outfit.

Once she had completed dressing, she went downstairs to find Matthew. She twirled as he gave a long, low whistle in response to her appearance.

"You look marvelous, my darling," he said as he kissed her cheek.

"Thank you, sir. I'm pleased you approve."

"Those ladies won't know what hit them when they see you." He looked at her admiringly. He always had thought her the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but now that she was pregnant, her beauty seemed otherworldly. He found this particular outfit especially becoming since it brought out the roses in her cheeks and complimented the rich chestnut of her hair. He held out his elbow to escort her to the motor.

"So, how will you spend your afternoon?" she asked as they settled into the Renault.

"I suppose I'll just wander the back roads a while," he replied, "and then I'll come back here and post that letter to Stuart to set up the meeting we spoke of. You're sure two hours is enough time for the luncheon and whatever else Lady Robelard has planned?"

"More than enough time, darling. Perhaps when you pick me up, we can visit that charming basket shop again. I think Anna might like one of those handwoven shopping baskets. You know, the ones with the hand painted seascapes?"

Matthew pulled into the drive at Lady Robelard's villa and escorted Mary to the front entrance. He greeted the fawning hostess and then took his leave, smiling to himself as Mary gave him a parting wink.

* * *

 _Coriaria myrtifolia_ , called in English _redoul_ , is a prolific, ornamental shrub confined to northern Mediterranean coastal Spain and Southern France, penetrating into Italy as far as part of the Apennines. Growing two to three metres tall, it has myrtle-like leaves and produces a fleshy, black berry similar to a blackberry. Traditionally, leaves of redoul were collected for their tannin content and used for tanning and dyeing purposes. The plant, especially its berries, is highly toxic.

* * *

After the guests had gathered in the drawing room, Flo led them into the music room where Mary was surprised to find that the twelve luncheon attendees were seated at three separate tables rather than being seated around the large dining table she'd passed as she entered, their places already set with place cards and watercress salads. Mary was not surprised, however, to find herself sitting with Lady Robelard and Lady Raines, so she girded her loins for the inquisition she knew was sure to come. The fourth woman at her table was the vacuous Lady Vivian Hartney, whom Mary had met at a dinner party the previous Saturday evening. She was the second wife of the Earl of Hartney, whose first wife, Vivian was quick to note, had run away with an Italian artist and currently was living in sin near Tuscany.

"So, Lady Grantham, I understand you are on your honeymoon," said Vivian, tucking into her salad.

"She is indeed," interrupted Maud. "She and her charming husband are staying in _Villa St. Louis_." She looked pointedly at Mary, "I understand you and Lord Grantham have known each other for a number of years, yet you only recently married. How interesting."

"Yes, isn't it," remarked Flo, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. "Is it true he was married previously?"

Mary stiffened slightly. "Yes, he was," she replied, wondering how Flo had come into that information.

"Oh, just like my Gerald," exclaimed Vivian, ignorant to the tension floating about the table. "I'm happy to say he is learning from his mistakes."

"I'm sure he is," retorted Flo, rolling her eyes. She turned to Mary. "Tell me, Lady Grantham—may I call you 'Mary'?" she asked, not waiting for an answer—"if, as Maud says, you'd known each other for years, it must have been awkward for you, his being married to another woman, I mean. However did you resist temptation?"

Mary was shocked at Flo's boldness. Her lack of tact caused Mary to stop in mid-chew, forcing her to struggle to swallow. She had expected to be targeted, but this conversation was heading in an uncomfortable direction. Drawing on every ounce of self-control she could muster, Mary responded, "Actually, Lady Robelard, it wasn't awkward at all. I was living in London during the duration of his marriage."

"Oh, how fascinating! Gerald and I simply adore London," squealed Vivian, cutting into a slice of cold potato and stuffing it into her mouth.

"How fortunate the two of you were able to reconnect, then," said Maud. "I take it you plan to live on his estate and not in London?"

"Yes," Mary replied, "Downton Abbey will be our home. He has responsibilities to the estate and to the village that require his presence."

"That should prove quite a challenge for you, I would imagine," said Flo.

"Oh? How so?" asked Mary.

"Gerald lost his ancestral home when he couldn't pay the death duties after his father's death," giggled Vivian, "but the land still supplies us a formidable income."

"Mary, do you really believe you'll enjoy village life?" Flo smirked, "After being surrounded by the hustle and bustle of London, I should think living in the English countryside would prove to be rather stifling."

"Not at all, Lady Robelard," replied Mary, attempting to find her footing. "Actually, I was born and raised in the Abbey, so we'll be living in my former home."

"How serendipitous. Were your parents servants there?" asked Vivian.

Mary laughed. She knew Vivian was guileless. "No, actually Matthew was my father's third cousin and heir."

"Interesting. So you had no brother to inherit the title?" asked Maud.

"No. I have two younger sisters."

"I see. How lucky for you," said Maud, giving Flo a knowing glance.

"Yes, indeed. I'm sure assuming your mama's title gives you a great deal of satisfaction," said Flo sardonically.

Her appetite gone, Mary pushed the remainder of her salad around her plate. She hadn't thought it particularly tasty to begin with—the dressing left a bitter aftertaste in her throat—so she lowered her fork and tried to maintain a calm demeanor. The insinuation was clear—Flo and Maud concluded that Mary had married Matthew to establish herself as Countess of Grantham. Perhaps they even assumed she had a hand in the dissolution of his marriage to Lavinia, something that couldn't be further from the truth. She felt as if she had stepped into a quagmire of innuendo.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll see what's keeping our entrées," said Flo, suddenly rising from the table. She walked briskly to the kitchen, leaving Mary, Maud, and Vivian to watch her in amazement.

"I must say that's odd," said Vivian. "I don't know that I've ever seen a hostess feel the need to roust a kitchen staff. It's not as if we've been waiting to be served."

"I'm sure she just wants to ensure the plates are prepared properly," said Maud.

"No doubt," replied Mary. At this point in the luncheon, nothing Flo did surprised her.

A moment later Flo returned followed by footmen bearing plates of shrimp salad in a butter lettuce cup, asparagus with Alouette spinach-artichoke spread as dressing, and half a deviled egg. As the server leaned in to place a plate before Maud, Flo said, "Serve Lady Grantham first." She looked at Mary, saying quickly, "You're my guest. I see Maud every day."

"So, Mary, what have you and that handsome husband of yours planned for this week?" asked Maud benignly.

"I'm not sure what Matthew has planned, but Henry and Marie Clews have invited us to a dinner party at Château de la Napoule later this week," she replied. "Evidently, we're supposed to wear medieval-themed costumes. I suppose we'll have to search about for something appropriate to wear. Other than that, I'm sure we'll do some more exploring or simply enjoy the villa. It's so lovely there."

"I hope you're not keeping him too confined, dear," said Flo. "That strapping husband of yours appears to be quite an adventurer, judging from his daily forays on that bicycle. I'm sure you realize a vibrant man like him needs constant stimulation."

"I'm quite aware of his needs, Lady Robelard. In fact, he's been taking care of my needs, as well. It's a pity that Lord Robelard is not here to take care of yours." Mary's patience had worn thin, and the bitter taste had returned to her throat. Taking a sip of water and gathering herself, she said, "We've had a marvelous time so far and are looking forward to three more weeks here before returning to our home."

By the time the two-tiered lemon pudding was served, Mary was experiencing some abdominal discomfort. The shrimp salad had not agreed with her, which she attributed to the unpleasant bent of the conversation. She excused herself to the ladies' room and splashed water on her face, hoping to settle the shakiness she felt. The luncheon had proved to be fraught with tension, and she was eager to get away from the barbs being thrown in her direction. When she passed the grandfather clock in the hallway, she was relieved to see Matthew would arrive to pick her up within the hour. She fought off some dizziness upon her return to the table and resolved to remain calm in the interim.

Vivian was prattling on about something Gerald had done the previous evening, but Mary had trouble concentrating on her words. She sat quietly, fighting off dizziness, the abdominal pain becoming worse. She excused herself to the ladies' room once again and rushed away from the table.

* * *

While Mary was at luncheon, Matthew made his way to an out-of-the-way art gallery twenty-eight kilometres away in Nice to look at a painting purportedly by Henri Matisse, one of Mary's favorite artists. Nicolas had told him of its existence and assured him his source was unimpeachable and that the painting was genuine. When Matthew arrived at the ramshackle building, which was little more than the size of a small cottage, an aged proprietor led him into a tiny room where he was stunned to see an amazing oil painting. The style looked familiar—an impression of bright, Mediterranean colors depicting a seascape outside an open window—and when he bent down to look at the signature, the name 'Matisse' was clear. The proprietor pointed to a photograph hanging next to the painting, which depicted a dour looking, bearded man holding a palette and standing next to the painting in question. For years the elderly proprietor had turned down offers from buyers interested only in adding it to their collections. His friend Henri had painted a number of these "open windows" and had given him this one long ago in payment for a favor. The old man smiled when he saw the look on Matthew's face as he looked at the painting. Here was a man who knew the intrinsic value of a true work of art. To Matthew this was a find of epic proportions, the perfect gift for his perfect wife.

* * *

Matthew's spirits were high when he arrived at Lady Robelard's villa to fetch Mary. He already had dropped off the painting at the villa, thanking Nicolas for relaying the information about its existence and sharing with him his plans for revealing it to Mary. He had arranged that evening in his mind all the way back from Nice—having a romantic dinner, blindfolding Mary and leading her up to their bedroom where Nicolas would have hung the painting, revealing it to her, and enjoying what he hoped would be her amazement.

When he reached the front porch, he was met by Flo and Maud, who told him Mary was somewhat under the weather and was resting in one of the guest rooms at the rear of the villa. Flo led him through the house, assuring him Mary would be fine, but when he entered the bedroom, he knew something was dreadfully wrong.

"Under the weather" did not come close to describing the condition in which he found his wife. He rushed to her side and called her name.


	40. Chapter 40

Matthew glowered at Flo and said between his teeth, "What the hell happened to her? When I dropped her off two hours ago, she was fine." He sat on the edge of the bed, holding Mary's clammy hand and wiping her face with a damp cloth. She had just experienced another bout of vomiting which left her weak and barely responsive, and he was beside himself with worry. He felt something rubbing his shoulder and looked down to see Flo's bejeweled hand. He shook her off and rinsed the cloth in the basin on the bedside table.

"When she arrived, I thought she looked rather pale. I suppose she must have picked up a bug somewhere," said Flo nonchalantly. "I'm sure she'll be fine."

"Absolutely," said Maud. "Just give her a chance to rest."

Flo leaned down and added in what she thought was her most seductive voice, "You probably don't want to move her, so you're welcome to stay here for a day or two while she recuperates. She can rest, and I'm sure you can find something to amuse yourself in the interim."

Matthew resisted the urge to lash out at her. He didn't understand how she could be so cavalier about the seriousness of Mary's condition, but he had no intention of letting Flo dissuade him from getting treatment for Mary. Despite Flo and Maud's assurances that all Mary needed was a chance to rest and be left undisturbed, he knew better. He had tried to rouse her, but she was disoriented, barely responding to his entreaties and at times seeming not to recognize him. Her skin was pale—almost translucent—and was coated in a thin layer of perspiration that had soaked through the rose silk fabric of her garment. He knew she needed medical care, not simply a rest. His mind made up, he was about to request that Flo's chauffeur take him and Mary to the hospital in Antibes when Mary once again grabbed her midsection. He held a basin and supported her as she vomited violently. He laid her back onto the pillows and wiped her mouth tenderly.

Matthew was alarmed to see that Mary's eyes were bloodshot and cloudy and her body was wracked with sporadic tremors. "Water," she croaked, her voice raw and strained, and Matthew looked about for a pitcher and glass. Seeing none, he stood to ask for them to be brought into the room only to discover Flo and Maud had disappeared.

"Just a moment, darling," he replied, trying to keep his voice level and kissing her forehead. "I'll be right back."

He hurried out of the room to search for the kitchen. He strode down a long, dimly-lit hallway and stopped dead in his tracks when he heard Flo and Maud whispering in an adjacent room.

"Shhhh. She didn't eat all the salad, so I applied some to the shrimp. She'll be fine."

"Are you sure? She's terribly ill, Flo."

"I'm telling you, Jean-Paul knows what he's doing. Besides, it ensures she'll be here for a while."

"Flo, this was a mistake—a terrible mistake."

"Quiet, Maud. Don't you dare say another word."

"But, Flo…"

Matthew barely could believe what was hearing. _"Applied some to the shrimp." Some what? Was Mary's illness caused by something she had eaten? What did Maud mean when she said it was a "mistake"?_ He thought his head might explode. He stepped into the room glaring at the two women, his eyes aflame. The women stepped apart, Flo's jaw tight, Maud's eyes wide. "What have you done?" he snarled, stepping towards them, his hands in tight fists at his side.

Flo composed herself and placed her hand on his forearm. Her voice oozed smoothness as she said, "Matthew, really, I don't know what you're implying…"

He jerked his arm out of Flo's grasp and grabbed her by her upper arms, any sense of decorum long gone and replaced with absolute fury. "I don't know what game you are playing, but if you've done something that's caused Mary's illness, you'll regret it for the rest of your miserable life." The thought that this foul woman deliberately hurt his Mary made him blind with rage, and it was all he could do to keep from throttling her.

"Really, Matthew…" Flo's effort to look innocent was thwarted by Matthew's painful grip. When she saw the fiery look in his eyes, her initial arousal—caused by the thrill of feeling his strong hands on her—was supplanted by fear. Her predatory nature notwithstanding, when he shook her violently, she realized her plan had crumbled in the wake of Matthew's ire, and she fought to remain in control. "I…I…just thought we could…have some time to…to…get to know each other. After all, you…you obviously have been around…and she can't mean…"

Maud looked on, her hand to her mouth, as Matthew shouted at Flo, his face livid, " _What?_ _What are you saying?_ " He shook her ferociously. " _What kind of vile, demented, soulless creature are you?_ _What did you do to her? Tell me now!"_ He wanted to tear her limb from limb, send bits of her flying around the room, slap the thick rouge from her cheeks, rip the smirk from her face, destroy her for harming Mary.

"Give it to him, Flo," said Maud in a voice barely audible. She knew her friend had tested the limits of Matthew's self-control. Yes, he was desirable, but Flo had underestimated her quarry. Maud worried for her friend's safety if she denied what she had done.

Her face now a sallow white, Flo reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a vial half-full of a dark powder. Her hand trembling, she handed it to him. "It's a powder made from the redoul berry. It's harmless, really. I was assured…"

"You'll pay dearly for this if anything happens to her or to our child," Matthew snarled between clenched teeth as he snatched the vial from her and pocketed it. He felt himself nearly spiraling out of control, so he pulled himself together and said menacingly, his voice low, "I'm going to Mary now. Have your chauffeur pull your car to the front of the house." He turned on his heel and rushed from the room, Mary's water forgotten, determined to get her to hospital as soon as possible. He'd deal with Flo later; his first concern was Mary, and he knew he needed to get himself under control.

He wrapped Mary in the duvet upon which she was lying and picked her up protectively. "I've got you, my darling," he whispered as he carried her from the room. She was dead weight in his arms, and her head lolled as he held her close. By the time he reached the front of the house, Flo's driver was waiting. He opened the rear door and looked at Matthew nervously. "We need to get her to Antibes Hospital as soon as possible," Matthew said, his voice urgent.

The ride to the hospital was interminable, and as he held an unconscious Mary in his arms, his mind raced. He was living a nightmare. Mary had been poisoned with a substance that might well cause him to lose both her and their child. _God in heaven, had that loathsome woman endangered Mary's life in order to get close to him?_ Being targeted in that way was something he couldn't fathom, and he vowed that Flo would pay for her wrongdoing. He felt for the vial in his pocket, thankful he'd had presence of mind to place it there for safekeeping. There hadn't been time to contact the authorities—perhaps he should have done so before tearing out of the house, but helping Mary was his first priority. Once Mary was settled, he'd be able to think more clearly about what to do. He looked down at her.

 _God, she's so pale, so ill._

He was terrified.

By the time they reached the hospital, Mary's breathing was labored and rapid. Cradling her in his arms, Matthew raced inside, shouting for help, startling a doctor and three nurses who were milling about the admissions desk. One look at Matthew and the ashen form in his arms told them this was no ordinary emergency. Someone grabbed his arm and led him into an examination room where he placed Mary carefully on a table. When Matthew handed over the vial, the doctor blanched when Matthew told him what it contained, saying, "Redoul is a highly-toxic substance, _monsieur_. _Je vous assure_ , we'll do all we can."

"Please…please help her. She's pregnant," Matthew said brokenly, his eyes swimming in unshed tears.

Although he protested mightily, Matthew was escorted from the room to wait in a small anteroom off the corridor where he collapsed into a chair and leaned his head back against the wall. He tried to gather his thoughts, but images of Mary's limp body, Flo's smirk, and Maud's contorted face churned through his brain.

Time crept as Matthew sat alone with his thoughts. There was no one to console him, no one to sit vigil with him, and he realized he longed to speak with his mother. Isobel could settle him, give him assurance, share her expertise. He could not bear the thought of losing Mary or losing the baby. Being so far from home exacerbated his fear. How could he ever explain what had happened should the worst occur? A terrible coldness enveloped him—as much as he hated the thoughts that were roiling in his brain, he could not stop them. The room was sterile, impersonal, silent, and as he stared at the tile floor, the pattern began to undulate as his eyes filled with tears. Nothing in the stark room offered him any comfort. He rose from the hard wooden chair and began to pace. No one had come to give him any information, offer any solace, and other than answering a few questions from a clerk who needed some personal information about Mary and him when they'd first arrived, he had spoken to no one.

He felt like a caged animal.

He returned to the chair and sat, his hands clasped, his arms on his knees, his head down. He had no idea how long he'd been waiting, but when he looked up at the clerestory window, it was evident from the angle of the light that it was late afternoon. Finally, the doctor Matthew met when he carried Mary into the hospital entered the room, and Matthew leapt to his feet.

The doctor reached out, shook Matthew's hand, and introduced himself. "I'm Doctor Fontenot. Please, have a seat, Lord Grantham," he said, his brow furrowed in concern.

"How is she? Please! I have to know."

"Your wife still is very ill—as I told you, redoul is _très_ _toxique_ —but I am very hopeful she will recover with time. We've moved her into a private room as you requested." Matthew felt himself becoming light headed, and he lowered his head between his knees. The doctor rubbed Matthew's back and continued, "It's very fortunate most of the poison had left her body before it had been absorbed. The fact that she vomited several times helped eliminate it, but she still is quite nauseated. Normally, redoul can be fatal when taken in large amounts, but Lady Grantham doesn't appear to have enough in her system to kill her."

Trying to breathe but finding himself gasping for air, Matthew looked at the doctor and whispered tremulously, "What about our child?"

"So far, the pregnancy is viable; however, I'm sorry to say losing the child still is a possibility, albeit a slim one. If she had experienced convulsions, the resulting complications most likely would have led to a miscarriage. _Honnêtement_ , I don't think that will happen now, but she'll need to remain in hospital for the next few days. We're giving her fluids _par voie intraveineuse_ because she is _très déshydraté_ —how you say, _very dehydrated_ ?—and this should help with her recovery."

"May I see her, doctor?" asked Matthew, standing and looking eagerly towards the door. He was impatient to see Mary; no, he _needed_ to see her.

"Before I let you go, you should know that one of the effects of redoul poisoning is myositis of the pupils, which means the muscles of the eye are adversely affected. You'll notice some swelling and redness, and your wife will experience a great deal of eye pain over the next several days as a result."

Matthew was stunned— _as if nausea, convulsions, and dehydration weren't bad enough, now she's experiencing eye pain?_ "My God, is there any treatment? Is her vision affected?"

"There is no treatment I'm aware of, but we do have some eye drops that should ease the irritation. Her vision shouldn't be permanently affected, but as of now, in addition to the pain, she probably is experiencing some double vision." Doctor Fontenot paused and looked troubled. "I must ask, Lord Grantham, how did the poisoning occur? You see, I am bound by law to report such a thing if it is the result of a crime."

Matthew thought for a moment before he responded. "Mary attended a luncheon at Lady Robelard's villa today." He went on to describe the conversation he overheard and the ensuing confrontation. "Lady Robelard admitted sprinkling the vial's contents on Mary's food, and I took the vial from her."

"Why on Earth…?" exclaimed the doctor, shaking his head in amazement.

"You'd have to ask Lady Robelard," replied Matthew. He wasn't willing to share Flo's delusional motivation until absolutely necessary. "Now, may I _please_ see my wife?"

"Of course. I'll let you know when the authorities arrive. I'm sure they'll need to speak with both you and Lady Grantham."

Matthew stopped the doctor at the door, saying firmly, "I do not want Lady Grantham disturbed, Doctor Fontenot. I'll be happy to answer any questions they have, but I must insist they leave her alone."

"You'll have my support, don't worry," said the doctor. "She's experienced enough stress today, and frankly, it may be a while before she's lucid enough to answer."

With that, Matthew thanked the doctor and followed him down the hall to Mary's room, his jaw clenched and his heart pounding.

* * *

Mary's second full day in hospital was the first day she was able to speak with Matthew for a prolonged period of time. Prior to that, she fell in and out of consciousness punctuated by bouts of nausea, tremors, breathlessness, and pain. Matthew found himself on the verge of tears watching as she writhed in agony and cried for him, knowing there was little he could do other than wipe her brow and reassure her that all would be well. Doctor Fontenot attended her capably, but as he explained to Matthew, there was little treatment other than pushing fluids and keeping her comfortable. Every time she grabbed her belly, Matthew held his breath, certain it meant the end of the child they both wanted so very much. With what he determined was superhuman strength, she held on, as if she were aware of his desperate need for her and their child's survival. He spent hours by her side, leaving only to speak occasionally with the doctor and to meet briefly with Nicolas, who brought bedclothes and toiletries for Mary and a change of clothes for him. Nicolas asked about hanging the Matisse; Matthew told him to hide it away, knowing that if the worst happened, he'd never look at it again.

On her second night in hospital, Mary turned the proverbial corner. She awoke and saw Matthew sitting quietly next to her bed with their dog-eared copy of _The Great Gatsby_ in his hands. Raising her hand to wipe her eyes, she stopped in mid-air when Matthew dropped the book and looked at her with an expression that only could be described as one of utter relief.

Her hand went to her belly. "Matthew…what happened?…the baby? Is the baby…?"

He fell to his knees beside her bed and kissed her hand when he heard the strength of her voice. "He's…she's…all right…we think. My darling, I'll be honest, you were very ill, but the doctor is optimistic you…and the baby…will be fine."

* * *

Mary was released from hospital after four days with instructions to rest, so she and Matthew spent the remainder of their second honeymoon week ensconced in their villa. They found themselves relishing the time alone, sitting together on the terrace, eating Provençal cuisine, reading to each other, and simply talking. The heat and light, the blue Mediterranean and scented umbrella pines, the lush, bright flowers, and chilly nights served as a means of recuperation for them both, and the first time after the poisoning that Mary felt the familiar fluttering in her belly, they both wept with joy.

Her recovery was not stress-free, however. She tired quite easily, and the tremors and double vision she experienced continued to be a source of concern for them both. As Matthew hovered and fretted, Mary assured him she was feeling better every day. The incident had frightened and angered her—in all her life she never could have imagined that someone would harm her deliberately just to have access to her husband—and the aftereffects proved to be trying at times. Still, Matthew's love and constant support gave her courage, and she resolved to overcome her outrage. They talked at length about what had happened—how close they came to losing their child, how every day together was a gift, how much they regretted allowing Flo and Maud into their lives.

Thanks to two gossiping nurses, word had spread along the Riviera of Mary's poisoning and Flo and Maud's part in it, and the villa was inundated with tokens of concern. René found himself acting as doorkeeper, accepting baskets of flowers and fresh fruits and food along with notes and invitations and small gifts. He spent much of his time turning away visitors eager to hear about the incident first-hand. As the correspondence piled up, he finally enlisted one of the maids to serve as a sort of secretary in order to keep track of the gifts and messages that arrived daily. Each afternoon he delivered the list and notes to Mary and Matthew, who were surprised and touched to hear from so many acquaintances. Two notes in particular were greeted with raised eyebrows—the first was from Mrs. Dudley Ward, who expressed her and the Prince's concern for Mary's health, assuring them they were being updated regularly; the second was from Churchill himself, who offered to contact authorities in order to bring those "dreadful harpies" to justice. At the bottom of his note was a postscript from his wife, wishing Mary a speedy recovery and assuring her that neither Flo nor Maud ever would be allowed to show their faces in polite society again.

As happy as they were to be back in the villa, their interview with the local authorities proved to be distressing when the police inspector told them that Flo and Maud had departed Antibes the same evening Mary was admitted to hospital. When questioned, Lord Raines asserted his innocence and insisted his wife had told him Flo had a family emergency and needed his wife to travel with her, he thought, to London. An investigator had interviewed Lady Vivian Hartney, Mary's vapid tablemate, who barely remembered the luncheon at all other than how lovely Mary's frock was and how shocked she had been by Mary's illness. Matthew mentioned hearing the name "Jean-Paul" during his confrontation with the two women, but the police investigator shook his head, telling him his office lacked the manpower to interview all the Jean-Pauls currently living in the area around Antibes. He assured them, however, that should Flo or Maud return to the area, they would be dealt with. Frustrated with the knowledge that justice would not be served anytime soon, Matthew vowed to track down the women once he and Mary returned to Downton and when he had access to private investigators through his law firm.

* * *

The first morning of their third week in Juan-les-Pins, after ensuring that Mary was comfortably settled on the terrace, Matthew met with Nicolas to organize a plan for revealing to her the Matisse painting he had purchased. He couldn't bear to think about it when she was so ill, so he had told Nicolas to stow it away, but now that she was well on the road to recovery, he couldn't wait to show it to her. As it happened, Mary wanted to take a short trip in the motor to Biot, a medieval village on a hilltop approximately four kilometres from Antibes, and after much cajoling on her part, he agreed. He realized the timing of her request was perfect because it would allow Nicolas to hang the painting while they were gone.

After receiving a firm embrace from Mary, Matthew held her shoulders and said, "But only a short trip, my love. I don't want to risk your having a relapse."

"Oh, Matthew, it will be lovely to get out and about, if only for a little while. I feel as if we've both been cooped up for far too long, and Biot isn't far away at all."

"You've convinced me, but you must promise to let me know if you get too tired."

"I promise. Now unhand me, sir, and let me get ready."

Driving along winding roads over hills covered with mimosas and olive trees, Matthew and Mary reached the picturesque village and marveled as they drove through the original medieval gateways. Ancient buildings covered in colored mosaics, Maltese crosses, and engraved stones brought the history of the town to life, and they noted with some amusement that large ceramic jugs seemed to be found on every corner. Because Mary tired easily, they did little walking and instead spent most of the time driving down the narrow streets, admiring the architecture, laughing when they reached dead ends that forced Matthew to reverse course. After touring the oldest part of the town, they found a small, stone-roofed _crêperie_ on the edge of the perched village and stopped for lunch before returning to their villa. To their delight, the ham and cheese crêpes proved to be delicious, and they followed the meal with lemon and sugar crêpes for dessert.

"Yet another recipe for Mrs. Patmore," said Matthew, laughing as he watched Mary run her finger along the edge of her plate surreptitiously. "I can't tell you how happy I am to see that your appetite has returned."

"I'd be a fool not to finish that crêpe, considering how enviously you were eyeing it," retorted Mary. "Your sweet tooth knows no bounds, Lord Grantham."

"True, but seeing you eat so well is worth my missing out on another bite." He reached across the small table and took her hand. "How are you feeling, my darling? Not too tired, I hope."

"Not tired at all, actually. This little jaunt is just what I needed. Thank you, darling." She looked at him beguilingly. "Now, do you suppose we might visit that little pottery shop across the way?"

"How can I refuse you when you look at me that way? Of course we can. That will be our only shopping excursion today, though. I don't want you to wear yourself out."

Once Matthew loaded the purchases into the motor, he and Mary were on the road back to Juan-les-Pins, Mary's head on his shoulder and his arm coiled protectively around her. It had been a lovely day so far, and Matthew looked forward to Mary's reaction when she saw the painting awaiting her on the wall of their bedroom.

* * *

"It's so beautiful, Matthew. I can't believe it's ours." Matthew sat propped up against the headboard of the bed with Mary snuggled in his arms, both of them staring at his gift to her. On the wall opposite, hung Matisse's painting of an open window that looked out upon the blue Mediterranean, a vista not so different from the one that greeted them every day.

Matthew had blindfolded her before bringing her into the bedroom, and he led her into her dressing area to don her nightgown, promising her she soon would learn why he was being so mysterious. He changed into his pyjamas, as well, and fetched her when she called to him that she was ready for bed. When he removed the blindfold and revealed the painting to her, she stood transfixed, unable to speak. Whirling around into his arms, she only could utter, "Oh, oh" as he chuckled into her hair and inhaled her scent.

"I take it you like it, then?" he asked, knowing full well her answer.

She turned back toward the painting, looked behind her at his sparkling eyes, and said quietly, "It's magnificent, Matthew. Wherever did you find it?"

He wrapped her in his arms and related how Nicolas had told him of the shabby gallery and its elderly proprietor, saying, "I admit I was skeptical such a painting existed, but I was convinced of its provenance, and, well, I knew you were meant to have it. Happily, the owner sold it to me. It's now yours, my darling, with all my love."

"It's _ours_ , Matthew. It's a gift for both of us." She walked to the painting and admired the dazzling variety of brushstrokes—from long, blended marks to short, staccato touches—that created a pulsating rhythm enhanced by the symphony of colors. She turned to him once again, her face aglow, and saw the love in his azure eyes, not directed at the painting but at her, and her heart fairly leapt from her chest. She walked back to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and poured all her love into a deep kiss which left them both breathless. "I thank God that you are in my life, Matthew…that you love me. I don't know what I would do without you…where I would be without you."

Matthew lifted her into his arms and carried her to their bed, which already was turned down for the night. It had been days since they'd made love, Mary's illness and subsequent recovery allowing only for gentle caresses and kisses designed more for comfort than passion. She lowered the lace straps of her pink silk chemise nightgown as he removed his pyjamas, and she pulled his head towards her breasts. He felt her soft, warm skin beneath his lips and fingers and heard her low moan as he slid his tongue down her chest and removed her gown. Gently he moved against her body, which was becoming lush and curvaceous with the signs of her pregnancy, and cupped her breasts, his thumbs and forefingers rolling her tender nipples, causing her to arch into his hands, seeking…needing…craving his touch. "I'm bewitched by you," he murmured. "God, Mary, I can't imagine my life without you."

"I'm here, Matthew. Love me, please…promise me…never let me go." She slid her fingers through his hair and tugged at it roughly. "Promise me."

"I promise…Mary, I promise." His hand moved between her legs, and his fingers ran along the edge of her core where the sensitive strip of skin joined her leg to her body. He raised his head and moved up to run his tongue over the shell of her ear and down her neck. Their mouths met once again, and she broke the kiss only to utter a low, throaty sigh as his fingers pushed into her.

"Please, Matthew," she moaned, and her legs parted and her hips rose to align her body with his. He thrust into her, each long, hard stroke filling her, leaving her breathless, his mouth on her neck, her jaw, her mouth.

"I wish you could see how beautiful you are when you come undone," he whispered as he pulled out of her slowly only to plunge into her, filling her once again. The heat of passion gathered in her stomach, moved to her chest, and crept into her throat, causing her to emit a single, long-winded moan that caused him to groan in response. "I feel how close you are, Mary. Give in, Mary…give in," he urged, and her neck arched, her hands tore at his shoulders, and she went over, crying out his name as she shattered in his arms.

Not breaking their connection, he held her waist and rose to his knees, bringing them face to face, her chest against his. Her legs around his waist and her elbows on his shoulders, she clung to him as he continued to plunge into her, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts pounding. He felt her walls clench as she began to ride out another orgasm, and he roared as they went over together—

* * *

As they lay in the mussed sheets and looked at the painting, Matthew reached over to the bedside table and picked up a tattered copy of _The Saturday Evening Post_. "Nicolas gave this to me this afternoon. Evidently, he has kept a number of mementos from the times the Fitzgeralds stayed here."

"From the look of this magazine, I only can imagine the state of his living quarters," laughed Mary.

"Let's not think about that," replied Matthew, grinning down at her. "Anyway, Scott wrote an article for this issue entitled 'How to Live on Practically Nothing a Year,' which describes his and Zelda's attempts to live economically on the Riviera in 1924."

"Really? 'Nothing a Year'? How interesting. We should explore that in regards to managing Downton, don't you think?"

"Hmmm. We might consider economizing a bit, but I suspect foregoing some of our luxuries might get old after a while." He raised his brows, causing Mary to laugh. "Anyway, there's a paragraph that I thought captured this area quite well. Fitzgerald's a talented writer, as we well know."

"Read it, please, Matthew," Mary said, nestling into his arms.

Matthew cleared his throat and began:

" _When your eyes first fall upon the Mediterranean, you know at once why it was here that man first stood erect and stretched out his arms toward the sun. It is a blue sea; or rather it is too blue for that hackneyed phrase which has described every muddy pool from pole to pole. It is the fairy blue of Maxfield Parrish's pictures; blue like blue books, blue oil, blue eyes, and in the shadow of the mountains a green belt of land runs along the coast for a hundred miles and makes a playground for the world."_

"I'll think of the Mediterranean every time I look into your eyes, my darling," Mary said softly, taking the magazine from his hands and moving on top of him.


	41. Chapter 41

"Do you suppose they'll ever forgive us?"

Matthew replaced the telephone handset on its cradle and turned to Mary, who sat slumped against the back of the sofa, one arm perched across the top of her head. They just had finished a long conversation with Isobel, interrupted several times by Violet, who despite her advanced age, had managed to wrest the device from Isobel and give them what for. The call followed one they had made to Cora, which had left them spent but still determined to share the news of the poisoning with the family that day and be done with it. They put off calling until the danger had passed in order not to cause panic and to focus on Mary's recovery. Judging from the reactions of the three women in Downton, they had made the right decision.

"I don't know. Mother seemed relatively calm once I was able to assure her you've almost fully recovered and the baby is safe. You heard me tell her we were not cutting the honeymoon short; of course, that's when Violet took away the telephone the second time, and I had to repeat my assurances to her. I didn't realize how formidable those two could be when they are on the same team."

Mary laughed. "I don't know why you're surprised. Granny is nothing if not dogged when fighting a corner, and she's certainly found an ally in Isobel. She told me in no uncertain terms that 'those bitches would pay.'" A bemused look came over her face. "Honestly, I've never heard her express herself quite so crassly. Even Mama wasn't as outspoken, and you heard how outraged she was." She smoothed the fabric on the wide legs of her lounging pyjamas and sat up to re-tie the belt of the crêpe de chine jacket.

"And Mother wasn't much better. It was all I could do to convince her not to book tickets on the next train to Antibes." He shuddered at the thought of having to share the remaining two weeks of their honeymoon with his mother and, God forbid, Violet and Cora.

"Thank God for your powers of persuasion, Matthew. I love your mother, but I confess, the idea of her coming here…" Mary shivered and locked eyes with her husband, knowing he shared her sentiments. She began rubbing her left arm unconsciously as Matthew looked on.

"Are you having another tremor, Mary?" Matthew asked, as he moved to sit beside her. She still was experiencing residual effects from the poisoning, the most concerning to him being tremors and blurred vision. He was thankful that the worst of their nightmare was over but still was concerned about Mary's physical limitations, especially since they seemed to occur so randomly.

Mary looked down at her left fist, which was tight from her effort to control the trembling. "Yes. I just can't seem to manage keeping it under control. My left arm appears to have a mind of its own these days." She looked at him and grinned wryly. "Still, the tremor doesn't last as long as it once did, so there is that."

"We'll ask Doctor Fontenot about it again when he gets here." He took her left hand and massaged it gently. He could feel the spasms as he moved his hand to her forearm.

"Really, Matthew, don't you think we've taken up enough of his time? I'm getting better every day. It seems silly for him to take time out of his day just to confirm that I'm doing well."

"It's not silly, Mary. I don't think you realize just how ill you were." Mary scoffed and rolled her eyes, which prompted Matthew to take her face in his hands. "I'm not taking any chances with your health, my darling. Moreover, I don't think he would come if he didn't think it was necessary."

"I suppose. I admit I do like hearing his assurance that all seems to be well with the baby." She leaned into Matthew and brought his arm around her shoulders.

Matthew nuzzled her hair and said, "Besides, I want to ask him about our plans for this evening."

She sat up and turned to him. "Now, Matthew, we missed last week's party because I just was home from hospital."

"I'm serious, Mary. If he says we shouldn't go, we won't."

Since her release from hospital, Matthew had been watching Mary carefully for signs of fatigue and the lingering effects of the poisoning that Doctor Fontenot had described. She had handled well their trip to Biot earlier in the week, and she had endeavored to convince him she was well enough to accept Henry and Marie Clews's party invitation for that evening. Although he was pleased her stamina seemed to improve each day, he was reserving judgment about attending that night's soirée.

The note from Marie Clews indicated the invitation was an open one—she and her husband would be pleased to have Mary and Matthew attend if Mary's health allowed it. Of course, Mary and Matthew realized they were invited to satisfy the curiosity of the Clewses and others who had gotten wind of their story. Still, the Clewses were known as gracious, if rather eccentric, hosts, and their weekly parties at _Château de la Napoule_ were considered "can't miss" events.

Just as Mary was about to protest that Matthew was being unreasonably over-protective, René entered their sitting room and announced that Doctor Fontenot had arrived.

"Thank you, René. Send him up, please," said Matthew. He took Mary's hand and kissed it as she rose from the sofa, and they walked together into their bedroom. "I know you're aggravated with me, my darling. I know you think I worry too much. It's just that you haven't been out of hospital long, and I don't want you to over-exert yourself." He pulled her close and laid his hand on her belly.

Mary placed her hand over his and said, "I understand why you worry so, but you must know I'd never do anything to jeopardize this pregnancy. Except for this annoying tremor, I really do feel fine, Matthew, so if Doctor Fontenot says it's all right, why don't we go but make an early night of it? Since it's not a formal event, we should be able to sneak away."

"As long as the doctor says it's safe for you to go, I can live with that, I suppose," grumbled Matthew, just as Doctor Fontenot entered their bedroom. "Ah, doctor, thank you for coming."

"My pleasure, Lord Grantham." He turned to Mary, "Lady Grantham, you're looking well today." He pointed to the bed. "Please, have a seat."

Mary removed her jacket and sat on the edge of the bed. She smiled at Matthew, who stood looking on from the bed's foot. "I'm feeling well, doctor. Thank you."

Doctor Fontenot set his bag next to Mary and pulled out a stethoscope. "So, tell me, how are the tremors?"

"They've lessened some," said Mary, rubbing her left hand with her right, "but…"

"But you're still experiencing them, _non_?"

"Yes, she is," interjected Matthew. "In fact, it seems particularly bothersome today."

"Is this true, Lady Grantham?"

Mary shot an annoyed glance in Matthew's direction and said, "Yes, but despite what my husband is insinuating, it's only been somewhat annoying, not _bothersome_. A few days ago, it was much worse."

The doctor placed the stethoscope on Mary's chest and asked her to take several deep breaths. He then took her pulse. Instructing her to hold her arms out in front of her body, he watched as her left arm shook while her right arm remained still. Embarrassed at her inability to keep her arm under control, Mary quickly placed her hands in her lap. The doctor took her left hand in his and had her squeeze his hand as tightly as she could manage. His brow furrowed, he said, "There's still some weakness." He dropped her hand and asked, "Tell me, Lady Grantham, how have you been sleeping?"

Mary hesitated a moment before answering. "Oh, well…at least, fairly well. I've been waking two or three times most nights…"

"Mary, you didn't tell me that," said an alarmed Matthew.

"There was no point in disturbing your sleep, Matthew, and I knew you'd worry for nothing."

"Do you know what causes you to awaken?" asked the doctor.

"Not really. I put it down to my pregnancy, actually."

"That could be. Have you noticed any tremors when this happens?"

"Sometimes I'm aware my hand is trembling, but usually I'm able to go right back to sleep."

"Have you been experiencing any more dizziness?"

"No, not that I've noticed."

"How about your vision? Still blurred?"

"Yes, sometimes. Usually in the late afternoon or early evening."

The doctor held a finger in front of Mary's eyes and had her follow it without moving her head. He then handed Mary her jacket and asked her and Matthew to move to the sofa in the sitting room. He opened his bag and took out a notebook and flipped the pages, stopping on one filled with notes. When he finished reading, he smiled benignly and spoke: "First, let me say you've made remarkable progress, Lady Grantham. Redoul is very toxic when ingested in large amounts, so I'd say you are very fortunate. However, I've done some research and spoken with several colleagues, and I'm afraid it will be some time before your body is rid of these aftereffects. I won't go into the chemistry of this particular poison. Let me just say it remains in the body far longer than one might imagine."

Matthew took Mary's hand and asked, "You haven't discovered any treatment?"

"Unfortunately, no. Nature will have to take its course. Believe me, I've spoken with numerous experts, and they all agree with that. It was suggested that you avoid alcohol and take no medication stronger than an occasional aspirin. Since you are pregnant, I suppose you already are following those guidelines, correct?"

Mary nodded, her jaw tight, and she looked into the doctor's eyes. "What about our child? Will he or she be affected by this?"

"That's a possibility, I suppose, but that's not my area of expertise. I strongly suggest you see a specialist when you return home. He should be able to answer your questions. If you'd like, I can supply you with a list of obstetric specialists based in London."

"Thank you, Doctor Fontenot. That would be helpful," said Matthew.

"I'll get that to you later this afternoon. Do you have any other questions?"

Matthew looked at his wife, who sat stiffly and seemed lost in thought. Worried about her silence, Matthew ran his hand soothingly up and down her back. "Darling? Do you have any questions?" he asked softly.

Mary shook herself out of her reverie and asked, "Um…may I continue normal activities? Matthew and I are invited to a party at the Clewses' home tonight, but he seems to think we should stay here in the villa."

"Lady Grantham, as long as you feel well enough, you can participate in normal activities within reason. Your being pregnant means you tire easily; couple that with the residual effects of the poisoning, and you could relapse if you're not careful. However, attend the party if you feel well enough—you'll be the best judge of what you can and cannot do."

* * *

Beginning in 1919, Henry and Marie Clews, the expatriate Wall Street banker-turned-artist and his wife, began redesigning and restoring _Château de la Napoule_ , a turreted seaside castle comprised of Saracen ruins in Mandelieu-la-Napoule, which was twenty-five kilometres west of Antibes. While living at the Hôtel du Cap in Antibes, the Clews learned that the abandoned castle was for sale, and attracted by the 14th-century towers and high walls, they purchased it and began restoring the castle stone by stone, adding sections that reflected their personal style. The Clews hired twelve resident Florentine stonecutters to work on the massive restoration, and Marie herself began restoring the gardens, which had been abandoned for years. Although no one knew when the work actually would end, the castle was evolving into a massive, ornate structure surrounded by palm-shaded formal gardens, lush orange groves, and labyrinths of greenery. White bulldogs, white peacocks, and marabous roamed freely, and guests told stories of encountering native wildlife skittering across the wide lawns. _Once Upon a Time_ was inscribed above the entrance—a phrase seemingly appropriate for such a wonderland.

It was through that entrance that Matthew and Mary walked and were greeted warmly by Marie, who was dressed as some sort of medieval maiden in a gold-belted, velvet gown with a tight-fitting bodice over which was worn a tight jacket, trimmed in fur and richly ornamented with pearls and silver decorations. Her hair was clustered in thick curls on either side of her face and covered with a pointed cap with turned-up borders.

"Welcome to _Château de la Napoule._ I'm so pleased you could come to our little soirée," cooed Marie. "How lovely you look, Lady Grantham. You seem to have recovered well."

"Thank you, Mrs. Clews. I'm feeling much better. We're delighted to be here."

Matthew resisted the urge to ask if Mr. Clews were wearing chain mail, and he couldn't look at Mary for fear of bursting into laughter at the sight of Marie's costume. After a short chat with their hostess, he placed his hand on the small of Mary's back and directed her into the grand lounge where, happily, he discovered the other guests were dressed in evening wear, rather than in period costumes.

For Mary's part, she was pleased to see familiar faces—many of whom had sent notes of concern or gifts during her convalescence. Her appearance put to rest any questions the other guests might have had about her health, for she looked stunning in a long, fluid, black silk chiffon gown brocaded with metallic gold flowers that flattered her figure and epitomized sophistication and style. Matthew had found it difficult to pay attention to the conversations going on around him, for he was mesmerized by the back of Mary's gown which draped seductively, exposing her creamy skin to a few inches below her waist. When she modeled the gown for him before they departed the villa, Mary laughed when he suggested they forego the party and stay home. He could not convince her he was serious, despite his best efforts.

Mary and Matthew were the center of attention initially when they entered the grand hall, accepting well wishes and expressing thanks, until the Clews appeared, welcoming their guests and directing their attention to placards placed around the room that pointed to venues found throughout the castle.

The Clewses' party lived up to their invitees' expectations. Signs directed guests to great rooms where bands were playing music for dancing or listening. In one large salon, guests danced the "Charleston," the "Black Bottom," the "Foxtrot," and the "Lindy Hop," while other guests who found jazz and blues more to their liking migrated to another large room and sat on velvet-covered sofas and upholstered chairs to listen to songs such as "Downhearted Blues" and Duke Ellington's "Creole Love Call." In yet another room, guests sang along or danced as a band played popular tunes of the day from composers such as George and Ira Gershwin, Cole Porter, and Irving Berlin. Set up between the rooms down long, wide hallways were tables laden with food and drink, and servers dressed as medieval noblemen, complete with breeches and stockings, moved about. Guests desiring a respite from the music were directed to smaller rooms designed to foster conversation. Rich tapestries hung on the walls, and small tables with chairs were set up in the middle of these rooms with plush sofas and club chairs lining the perimeters. Several terraces also were prepared for the evening. Torches cast a fiery glow as guests availed themselves of tables and chairs despite the coolness of the evening.

Laughter and music rang throughout the castle, and Matthew and Mary moved from room to room—dancing and laughing as they enjoyed the music, the company, and each other. They sat together and feasted on canapés as cool jazz flowed over them. They talked and laughed with other couples with whom they had nothing in more common than youth and style and money.

Matthew watched, enamored, as his wife talked animatedly about their life in Downton, sharing anecdotes and describing the beauty of the countryside she loved. Her bright eyes and stunning good looks were a magnet, and he found himself, as always, falling under her spell. Her hand went to her throat—that alabaster throat that always beckoned to him—as she laughed with and fascinated those around her. He stood next to her, sensing her warmth, and his hand gravitated to her back. He trembled slightly as his fingertips ran up and down her silken skin. Touching her was as elemental to him as breathing—she gave him life.

 _She was a captivating woman, and he belonged to her._

Standing alongside Matthew, Mary felt the familiar pull of desire as she watched him charm those around him. She held his arm and felt the muscle flex underneath her hand, and she smiled and nodded as he answered questions about his time in Lords. Following the conversation was difficult for her at times because being in his proximity was such a distraction. The tilt of his head, the sinews in this throat, his scent, his persona—drew her in. When he touched her, her breath hitched, and she could feel desire pool inside her. He exuded strength and charisma, and when his hand moved to her back, she wanted nothing more than to melt into him.

 _He was an incredible man, and she belonged to him._

"CRAWLEY! I'll be damned!"

Matthew turned upon hearing his name, and Mary watched as he greeted a tall, lanky stranger who strode confidently up to them and grasped Matthew's outstretched hand.

"Talbot? Good to see you! My God, man, how long has it been? What are you doing here?"

"My team and I arrived today to meet with Gilles Noghès, the president of Monaco's Automobile Club, about Automobile Week. We're racing the Monte Carlo Rally. What brings you here?"

"Oh! My wife and I are here on honeymoon. Mary, this is Henry Talbot, the famous—or perhaps I should say, infamous—race car driver. Henry, my wife, Mary."

Henry kissed Mary's hand and said mischievously, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Crawley. Matthew's told me _nothing_ about you." He turned to Matthew and said, "I say, old man, she's a stunner. Your taste in women certainly has improved. Whatever happened to…?"

Matthew spoke up quickly, saying to Mary, "Darling, Henry and I were in the same regiment. Now he's fulfilling his lifelong dream of crashing motor cars and causing mayhem wherever he goes. I've followed your career, Talbot. You've done quite well on the circuit, despite all your mishaps."

Mary smiled as Henry responded, "Quite right, but I seem to recall you did your fair share of crashing about when we were in France during the war."

"What's this?" laughed Mary, looking at Matthew. Like her father, Matthew seldom spoke about his wartime experiences, so she looked forward to hearing what sounded like an amusing story.

His face reddened, Matthew replied, "The only reason we crashed is you tried to grab the wheel."

"That's because you were driving like a madman."

"You were wounded. I was trying to get us back to camp."

"We were right outside of camp when you smashed into that tree."

"What?!" exclaimed Mary.

"'Smashed' is an exaggeration, Talbot. At least I got you there in one piece."

"Barely. And 'one piece' is a relative term. Almost losing a leg to a German bullet was bad enough, Crawley. The way you drove, it's a miracle I survived your rescue attempt."

"And yet, you did, and you're still around to torment me."

The two men stared at each other for a moment and then burst into laughter.

"So, you said you're here for the Monte Carlo Rally?" said Mary. "What does that entail?"

"The Rally itself doesn't begin in Monte Carlo. It's the finishing point. The six starting-points for the race are Paris, Berlin, Brussels, Boulogne-sur-Mer, Vienna, and Geneva. The drivers choose their own routes, and the rules stipulate that the winner is chosen based on several factors, including total distance driven, the state of presentation of the car upon arrival in Monte Carlo, and the number of people carried in the car."

"It sounds grueling, but it must be terribly exciting," said Mary.

"It is. The course invites mistakes, and the weather and road conditions change constantly, which makes tire choice difficult, but there's no other rally like it. Prince Albert had a real vision in 1911 although, between you and me, he really just wanted to encourage tourism."

"And here we are," laughed Matthew, "so, obviously, it worked."

"Right. So, Crawley, what have you been up to since we last saw each other? Judging from your companion, I'd say you're doing something right." He stepped back and winked at Mary, much to Matthew's consternation. At first Mary thought this tall acquaintance of Matthew's to be friendly and harmless, but his continued glances her way quickly put her on her guard.

Matthew put his arm around Mary's waist and said, "I'm a lucky man. We're living on the Grantham estate in Downton."

"Isn't that the title you were set to inherit?" He leaned in conspiratorially. "What are you doing—just biding time?"

"Um…actually," Matthew stuttered, "I've inherited it. Mary's father, the previous earl, died last spring, so…"

Henry's eyebrows flew up, and his face registered understanding. "Oh, I see. Well, my sympathies, Countess, and my congratulations, Earl." He bowed to Matthew and grinned.

They continued chatting for a while until Mary excused herself to go to the ladies' lounge. She knew war created strange bedfellows, and despite their bond, she realized Matthew and Henry couldn't be more ill-suited as friends. Henry was proving to be a braggart and a rake—something Matthew definitely was not—and she began to feel increasingly uncomfortable in his presence.

Henry's eyes followed Mary as she walked away. He jabbed Matthew in the ribs with his elbow and said, "Being an earl definitely has its advantages. So, wife number one went by the wayside to make room for wife number two, eh? She's a real Sheba, Crawley. What kinds of wiles did she use to get you interested?"

Matthew set his jaw and said tensely, "You don't know what the hell you're talking about, Talbot." He recalled from years ago Henry's attitude towards women, and he was irritated to see he hadn't changed. "Don't assume anything about my life. Circumstances kept Mary and me apart for a long time, but we managed to find each other again. She's the love of my life, and I'll thank you not to cast aspersions on her character. We may have been friends once, Henry, but that goes by the wayside if you can't keep your mind out of the gutter. I'm telling you right now to stay away from her."

Henry backed up and raised his hands. "Fine, fine, whatever you say, Crawley. I'll grant that you're a lucky man. She's dazzling." Henry always had suspected Matthew led a charmed life, and that new wife of his proved it. They had lost touch after Matthew was wounded, but Henry remembered that Matthew had been engaged to a nice-looking blonde whose picture sat on a rickety table next to his bunk. _Obviously, he had thrown her over for a more alluring prize._ He didn't realize Matthew had that in him, and despite Matthew's vehement defense of her, he wondered if Mary had gone after the main chance and lured him away from his former spouse. A woman as beautiful as she surely had a bevy of suitors, so setting her cap for the man who would replace her father might be indicative of her willingness to engage in a discreet liaison or two. _He'd never know unless he tried._ He excused himself from Matthew saying his drink needed refreshing and sauntered off in the direction of the ladies' lounge.

When Mary reentered the great room, she looked for Matthew and was surprised to see Henry leaning against a nearby wall and holding two champagne glasses. "Ahh, Mary, I seem to have acquired an extra glass of champagne." He offered her one glass and took a sip from the glass in his other hand.

Mary raised her hand and said firmly, "No, thank you, Mr. Talbot, I don't care for any." She looked around for Matthew. She had a feeling Henry had sought her out and was relieved they were surrounded by other party guests.

He leaned towards her and raised the glass he had offered her. With a mock-horrified tone he said, "Don't tell me you're one of those teetotalers."

She took the glass from him and set it on a nearby table. "No, Mr. Talbot, I'm not, but as I said, I don't care for any. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to Matthew."

She turned to walk away, but Henry took her gently by the arm and said in a voice that insinuated seduction, "Don't be in such a hurry, Mary. We've only just met. I'd like to get to know you better…"

"I'm afraid that desire is one-sided, Mr. Talbot. I believe I know _you_ well enough already." She pulled her arm from his grasp and said, "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Henry blocked her way and looked at her with an annoying smirk. "You're telling me you're not game for a little fun, Mary? This place looks to have a lot of nooks and crannies we could discover. You seem to be sitting pretty—you have position, money, security—why not explore what I have to offer?"

"And just what would that be, Mr. Talbot? You profess to be Matthew's friend, yet you think so little of him you actually would attempt to seduce his wife? How dare you! What kind of man are you? I'll tell you something, Mr. Talbot. I've loved Matthew longer than you've known him, and no one—especially not someone of your unseemly ilk—will _ever_ entice me to stray." Mary was irate. She had dealt with men like Henry Talbot for most of her adult life, particularly during her time in London, but his behavior particularly appalled her. His willingness to betray Matthew went beyond the pale, and it was all she could do to keep from slapping his face. As she tried to control her anger, she felt a familiar fluttering, and her hands moved instinctively to her belly.

Henry watched, a bemused look on his face, unsure what had caused her to move so suddenly. His eyes traveled to her hands, and he grinned. Before either of them could say anything, Matthew walked up, a look of disquiet on his face.

Noticing the Mary's tense demeanor, he said, "My darling, are you all right?" Holding Mary's arm protectively, he glared at Henry, who tried his best to look innocent, remembering that the normally even-tempered Matthew could be quite a formidable opponent when provoked.

"I'm fine, Matthew," she said, leaning into him. "Mr. Talbot and I just were talking."

"That's right, Crawley. Your lovely wife and I were discussing this castle. She seems to think the layout is rather dicey."

"Actually, I said I preferred our villa. One could lose his way in a place like this."

Matthew looked between the two of them and frowned. "Indeed. So, my darling, the Baskins are at a table just over there. Why don't you join them while I have a word with Henry?"

"Very well." She nodded once at Henry and said icily, "Good evening, Mr. Talbot."

"Good evening, Mary," said Henry. "It was a _pleasure_ to meet you." When Mary was out of earshot, he faced Matthew and said, "So, Crawley, I notice congratulations are in order. You certainly work fast for a man who just married."

Matthew's eyes smoldered, and he said succinctly, "We were comrades, Talbot, but that means nothing to me now. I know you fancy yourself a ladies' man, but make no mistake, if you ever approach my wife again without my being present, you'll live to regret it."

"Why, Crawley? Afraid she'll succumb to my obvious charms?"

Matthew grabbed Henry by the lapels, "No, you son of a bitch. I _know_ she wouldn't. I don't want her bothered by the likes of you ever again. Have I made myself clear?"

"Perfectly," said Henry. "You can't blame a chap for trying, though, Crawley." He paused for a moment and then said, "If it's any consolation, she turned me down flat." He straightened his clothes and walked away, feeling Matthew's glower at his back.

* * *

Mary rode with her head on his shoulder as Matthew drove back to the villa after the party. Except for the unpleasant interlude with Henry Talbot, the evening had been a pleasant one, filled with music and interesting company. Despite their odd costumes, the Clewses had proved to be excellent hosts, and by the time Matthew and Mary were saying goodnight, they already had been invited back for the next week's "more intimate" soirée, to which, they were told, only twenty couples were invited.

"Hmmm. Dinner for forty. That's intimate indeed," laughed Mary as she settled into the Renault's leather seat. "Can you imagine Mrs. Patmore's reaction if we told her forty people were coming to the Abbey for dinner?"

"What about Carson?" replied Matthew. "He'd have apoplexy if he had to hire and train the number of footmen it would take to serve them all."

"Rich Americans certainly like to flaunt their money, don't they?" remarked Mary. "Honestly, I'd never seen a white peacock until today, and evidently there are twelve of them on the grounds! Jane Baskin told me they'd been brought in from Japan and cost over one thousand pounds each when all was said and done!"

"And just think what they spent on liquor and food, and they give these parties weekly during the winter months!" Matthew shook his head. "That's coupled with the cost of renovations to the castle, which I gather isn't half finished. All in all, I'd say, yes, the Clews have plenty of money and aren't afraid to spend it."

"So, you enjoyed yourself? You seemed happy to see Henry," said Mary hesitantly. She knew he was apprehensive about her going to the party and hoped her insistence that they go hadn't continued to make him cross.

"I did and I was although Henry doesn't seem to have changed a bit since I met him ten years ago. I know you didn't like him much."

Mary considered her response. She didn't want to upset Matthew by telling him about Henry's behavior towards her. "Oh, I don't know. He's quite a lothario, which is too bad because he probably could be interesting to talk to if he weren't so full of himself."

"He's always been that way. I'm not making excuses for him, though." Matthew paused, took a deep breath, and said, "I saw the way her looked at you, and it made my blood boil."

"Matthew…"

"Mary, I know you didn't solicit his attention. He's never had any scruples where women were concerned." He looked at her and smiled. "It's not your fault you're the most beautiful woman in any room. I just hope Henry didn't upset you."

"He didn't, darling. I'm sorry to say I have experience handling the likes of him." She shook her head. "What bothered me is the fact that he's your friend, and…"

" _Was_ my friend, Mary. We shared a lot of experiences during the war, but, obviously, we'd lost touch. As far as I'm concerned, I wouldn't care if I didn't see him again for another ten years."

Mary leaned over and kissed Matthew's cheek. "Well, then, let's put that behind us." She settled into his shoulder. "How much longer is the drive? Are we getting close to the villa?"

"Not too much longer, darling. Why? Are you getting sleepy?"

"Not sleepy exactly," she murmured into his ear. "Just anxious to get home."

Matthew grinned and stomped the accelerator.

* * *

 _Their clothing lay in a pile on the floor._

 _Two figures bathed in moonlight stood breathless against the dressing room door._

 _His fingers trailed down her body—teasing, caressing, probing—as his mouth devoured her neck._

 _Her head thrown back, she grasped with one hand the silken tie above her head, holding on for dear life._

 _He pushed two fingers inside of her, inflaming her until her legs began trembling with the effort to stand upright._

 _His length filling her hand, she pumped and stroked and tortured him into a frenzy of sensation._

 _A low voice filled with promise repeated "I love you I love you I love you I love…"_

She lay sprawled on their bed, as he explored her body, kissing and licking her in her most sensitive places–over the tops of her thighs, just beneath the mounds of her breasts, behind her knees, in the crook of her elbow, in and around her navel, in the hollow of her neck. He whispered to her, telling her how good she tasted, how silken her skin was, how he loved the sounds that she made, how she captured his soul. She looked into his eyes and saw the desire and lust lurking there, and as he drove into her, her body exploded in a thunderous release. He crashed his lips onto hers, his tongue relentlessly plundering her mouth as he continued to grind into her, never changing his stroke.

One hand clutching the nape of his neck and her other arm thrown across his back, she felt his muscles contract and stretch as he ground into her, in a perfect sensuous rhythm, over and over causing trenchant waves of desire to envelop her. He groaned as he pushed her feverishly towards another orgasm. "I can feel it," he rumbled, his voice deep and low. "Let go, Mary. Let go."

She groaned desperately, gasping, holding onto him, begging him not to stop, crying out for _more,_ _more, more_ , as she felt the familiar pulsing that started in her core and continued vibrating throughout her body. Spasms of pleasure wracked her frame, and as her inner walls clenched, she heard him cry out her name and shudder as he went over with her, his breath hot against her neck.

When he started to pull away, she swathed her arms and legs around him, saying, "No. Please. Stay with me. I need to feel you. _Please_." He rolled carefully bringing her body on top of his, keeping their connection intact, both of them sated and limp, their breaths gradually returning to normal. He could feel her swollen belly pressing into him, and he ran his hands along the sides of her body—relishing the intimacy, savoring the moment—lost in the sensations loving her created.

"Matthew?" _It was barely a whisper._

"Hmmm?" _His hands continued their trek as her lips went to his throat._

"Take me again."


	42. Chapter 42

Mary awoke to sunshine streaming through the bedroom windows. _What was it about the Riviera sunshine?_ she thought to herself. It seemed immaculate somehow, flawless in a way, and so different from the sunshine she woke to on Downton mornings. Of course, it wasn't always sunny in Downton, far from it, actually, but even sunny days at home were nothing compared to the radiance she'd witnessed each morning of her honeymoon. No, Riviera sunshine was crystalline, perfect, whereas Downton sunshine seemed to have to put forth effort to light the sky, and even then, it was unreliable. _Although_ …she wondered if her present happiness colored her enjoyment—greeting each day as Matthew's wife surely would lead to an appreciation of all the beauty Downton afforded. She sensed that, wherever she was, sunny days from then on would remind her of the ones she woke to with Matthew on the Riviera.

Reaching behind her for Matthew's familiar form, she was surprised to find his side of the bed empty. She sat up and stretched. The clock on the bedside table said 7:13. It was the earliest she'd awakened since their arrival in Juan-les-Pins three weeks earlier. That realization gave her pause. Only one week remained of their honeymoon, and the thought of leaving the paradise that was the _Cote d'Azur_ and going back to Downton filled her with melancholy and a bit of disquiet. Of course, she knew the honeymoon couldn't last forever, but the sense that the end was near cast a pall over her spirit that made her want to bury her head in her pillow and pull the covers over herself. _Then again_ …she would be going home to a new life, a life filled with obligations and possibilities, a life as a wife and mother, a life she'd always longed for but never thought possible.

 _The dichotomy gave her pause—she never wanted to leave their villa, and she couldn't wait to get home to Downton._

"Matthew?" she called. No answer. " _Matthew?_ " a little louder. Still no response. She sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her dressing gown, which had been thrown carelessly towards the end of the bed the night before and ended up draped around one of the posts. She felt the familiar soreness between her legs, and she covered her mouth and smiled. The remnants of her shredded nightgown caught her eye, and as she donned the dressing gown, she felt herself blush when she remembered the wantonness of her behavior the previous evening. Their lovemaking had been particularly voracious—

" _Touch me."_

" _Lie back."_

 _Matthew on his knees beside the bed_

 _His head between her thighs_

 _Her fingers tangled in his silken hair_

 _Torrents of heat surging through her body_

 _His feral growl causing her body to sing_

 _Writhing beneath his touch_

 _All conscious thought evaporating into a lust-filled mist_

" _Please." She begged him._

" _Please, what?" he asked as his mouth continued to torment her, tease her, taunt her._

 _His tongue was urgent, insistent, needy._

 _Her back arched in response to his relentless onslaught._

" _Answer my question, Mary. What do you want? What do you want me to do to you?"_

 _She had no words._

" _Tell me, Mary. Tell me."_

" _God…Matthew…please…I need you. Now. Inside me."_

 _Blood pounded through her veins._

" _Feel what I feel for you_. _I need to be inside you."_

 _His labored breathing accompanied hers._

 _He moved up her body and kissed her savagely._

 _She tasted herself on his tongue._

 _Their eyes locked as he entered her._

" _There…that…don't stop…please…don't stop."_

 _Her hips found a rhythm, rocking and grinding against his thrusts._

" _I…never…will…stop."_

 _Moisture_

 _Sweat_

 _Urgency_

 _Bliss_

 _"I love you…I love you…I love you…I love you…I love you…I love…"_

Loving Matthew had spun her into a whirlwind of desire from which there was no escape, nor did she want one. During her years of solitude, she never had thought of herself as a particularly sexual being; now, every time he cradled her in the warmth of his arms, she was home—she knew it, she felt it, she savored it.

She wrapped her dressing gown tightly around herself and walked to the French doors leading to the terrace. When she walked outside, her senses nearly were overwhelmed by the sights and smells that surrounded her—

 _A combination of salt, jasmine, mimosa, and citrus wafted through the air and greeted her as it had each morning. She'd learned to recognize when the nearby boulangerie began baking its daily breads and pastries, and that particular morning, she knew olive baguettes,_ _croissants au chocolat_ _and sourdough boules would be among the delectable items offered for sale. Perfumed fragrances from the nearby arbors and gardens filled the air, and she knew the harmony of all those morning scents would stay with her through the day._

 _She saw heatless, quivering bars of gold shimmering under the shallow, turquoise water that lapped against the shore. The turquoise gradually transformed into deep cerulean as the water's depth increased, and in the distance the faraway coast flickered against the endless azure sky. Sailboats dotted the sea's surface, their white sails every bit as gleaming as the shore from which they sailed. This view was what inspired Matisse to paint the treasured painting now in her possession—and standing there, she felt as if she were stepping onto an impressionist's canvas._

She hugged herself as she absorbed her surroundings and did not hear the quiet step behind her on the tiled terrace floor. Suddenly a fragrant, apricot-colored rose appeared before her. Its double petals faded outwardly to cream, and she knew immediately it was a Safrano, a rose treasured in the area for its year-round blooms and haunting fragrance. She took the rose and felt the warmth of Matthew's kiss upon her cheek.

"Oh, Matthew, it's perfect," she whispered.

"Just like you, my darling," he replied. He moved next to her and handed her a glass of orange juice.

She noticed he was dressed for the day and said, "How long have you been up? You should have awakened me."

"You were sleeping so peacefully, I just didn't have the heart. Besides, it gave me a chance to visit the flower market."

"For one rose?"

"Ah, but it took some searching to find just the right one." He tilted his head and looked at her slyly. "Besides, I might have had an additional errand or two…"

"Matthew, what are you up to?"

"Oh, nothing much, but since it's the first day of our final week, I think we should take advantage of the time that's left to us."

"I agree, but shouldn't I be included in the planning?"

"Absolutely, and you will be—this evening after we return."

"Return from where?" Her interest was piqued, thanks to Matthew's playful grin.

"The little train trip I have planned. Now, we have to be at the Antibes station by ten, so it's time you moved your lazy bones."

"Ten?! Matthew! What were you thinking?! I can't possibly…"

"You can and you will. Now, get a move on!" He watched her eyes widen and added, "Oh, and wear comfortable clothing—nothing fancy, including footwear."

Thrusting the rose into Matthew's chest, Mary downed her juice and rushed into the bedroom to gather clothes, complaining all the while about "husbands who have no sense about how long it takes a lady to prepare," as Matthew laughed and left her alone to shower and dress. To his amazement—and hers—she appeared downstairs with forty-five minutes to spare, time enough for a quick breakfast. Nicolas drove them to the station, and Matthew handed Mary into the first-class compartment and then stepped back to speak with Nicolas, who was holding a large picnic basket.

"According to the schedule, we should return around 10:00 tonight, but you might check with the stationmaster in case there is a delay," said Matthew, taking the basket from Nicolas.

"Very well, sir. I hope you have a pleasant journey," replied Nicolas, tipping his cap and smiling broadly.

"I'm sure we will, Nicolas. I had no idea this place existed, so I can't thank you enough for arranging this. I'd say it definitely will be one of Lady Grantham's favorite excursions."

"I hope so, sir. Your car and driver will be waiting when you get to Marseille. The Camargue is less than an hour's drive from there. Since it's just been designated a zoological and botanical reserve, I've contacted my cousin Paul Desrosiers, who will meet you in Martigues and lead the tour from there."

* * *

The train journey through the countryside was scenic and pleasant. Once the train reached Toulon, it ran along the Mediterranean coast, giving the passengers panoramic views of the mirror-like seascape and sandy beaches. The day, like so many others, was clear and bright, and the Mediterranean sparkled as the sun kissed the waves. Matthew opened the picnic basket to reveal olive-studded focaccia and plump apricots, chicken stuffed with _foie gras_ and black-olive tapenade spread on a thinly sliced baguette, _tarte au citron_ and colorful macarons. Mary poured cups of lemonade from a vacuum flask, and she and Matthew settled in to enjoy the repast as the train continued along the coast.

"So, _now_ will you tell me where we're going?" Mary asked plaintively as Matthew popped a macaron into his mouth.

"Well, I suppose...," Matthew teased. "We're disembarking at Marseille, but we'll still have a way to go by motor. The final destination will remain a secret, but I'm hopeful you'll be thrilled when we get there." Mary huffed and sat back against the leather seat but smiled in spite of herself. Matthew seemed to delight in trying to surprise her at every turn, and she could tell from his expression that he looked forward to her response to this latest adventure.

By the time their hired motor left the Marseille station and headed for Martigues, Mary had shaken off the effects of the spellbinding train ride and clung to Matthew's hand eagerly. They were delivered to a shabby building before which sat a mud-covered Vulcan lorry with an equally mud-covered driver standing beside it. Although neither Mary nor Matthew had ever met one, the man appeared to be dressed as a cowboy—wearing boots, leather breeches, and a wide-brimmed hat. He held a bandana in his hand and repeatedly wiped his weather-beaten face.

When they approached him, he grinned and said, " _Bonjour_ , Lord and Lady Grantham. Welcome to the Camargue. I am Paul Desrosiers, your guide." He stepped to the lorry and opened the mangled passenger door, which squeaked in protest.

"Thank you," said Matthew. "We're delighted to be here." He turned to Mary and said, "Shall we?"

Mary hesitated and looked askance at Matthew. _He expected her to ride in that filthy vehicle?_

"Trust me, darling."

Sighing deeply, Mary allowed Matthew to help her into the lorry, and he followed her, chuckling at her obvious disquiet. Paul jumped into the driver's seat, stepped on the ignition, and headed down a gravel road that ran alongside a marshland. The lorry smoked and backfired and bounced erratically as Paul drove it farther into the marsh. He said nothing, but rather hummed and sang snippets of odd French tunes, stopping occasionally to light what turned out to be a series of rather foul-smelling small cigars. As the lorry continued on, the gravel disappeared, replaced by a wet, sandy substance, and as the vehicle slogged its way to parts unknown, Mary wondered how she might convince Matthew to cancel the excursion, believing the trek was one from which they might not return.

As the lorry continued to judder its way along what had become a seemingly impassable course, Matthew held Mary tightly to prevent her from being shaken to bits and wondered if perhaps he had overestimated the novelty of the experience. He'd taken Nicolas's word that the Camargue was not to be missed. Judging from the look on Mary's face, he wasn't so sure.

Finally, the lorry came to a shuddering stop on a ridge above the Mediterranean shoreline. The deserted beach stretched for miles in either direction with no living thing in sight other than some seabirds that soared and screamed overhead. Paul jumped from the cab, ran around to Matthew's door, and opened it with a flourish, saying " _Bienvenue au Camargue_!"

Matthew hopped from his seat and held his hand out for Mary. Obviously skeptical about leaving the lorry's confines, she nevertheless took his hand and stood unsteadily on the sandy ground. She was thankful she had worn sturdy lace-up oxford shoes with her pleated knit skirt and jacket, for the damp ground surely would have played havoc with any other footwear. All things considered, she was rueful she had not brought riding boots with her on honeymoon.

"Well," she said, "that certainly was some trip. Exactly _why_ are we here?" She looked quizzically at Matthew, who looked slightly uncomfortable, for he knew the last leg of the trip had not been pleasant for her.

"Ah, _Madame_ , just wait," said Paul, a grin almost spanning the width of his face. "Follow me!" He led Matthew and her away from the sea and pointed towards what appeared to be a glowing, pink wave inland from their location.

Suddenly, Mary and Matthew both gasped.

Before them were hundreds, if not thousands, of bright pink flamingos which called the wetland their home. The birds milled about the marsh—feeding, preening, flapping their wings, standing stock still. The cerise blanket undulated as the birds explored their habitat, totally unaware of their effect on the spectators.

"I've never seen anything like this!" exclaimed Mary, her hand grasping Matthew's arm.

"Nor have I," he replied. "Paul, are these native to this area?"

" _Oui_ ," he replied. "As far as we know, they've been here for possibly thousands of years. The climate is perfect for them, and as you can see, they are thriving. That's one reason the area has been authorized as a zoological reserve."

Suddenly, the birds began to rise as one rippling wave, circling and dipping over the marshland. "Aha!" exclaimed Paul. "You're in luck. Watch carefully. What you're about to see probably is why my cousin has directed you here."

Underneath the undulating pink cloud, galloping across the wetlands came hundreds of small horses, most no taller than twelve hands high. The majority of the horses were white or grey, but a few brown and black ones were mixed in with the herd. They continued running towards the sea, and upon reaching it began frolicking in the water. They kicked and ran and dipped their noses into the saltwater, obviously enjoying the surf, their antics causing Mary to gasp with delight.

"These are the wild horses of the Camargue," he announced to the stunned couple. Matthew stood behind Mary and wrapped her in his arms. She leaned into him and covered his hands with hers.

"Thank you for this," she whispered.

"Anything for you, my love," he replied. "So now the arduous trip was worth it?"

"Absolutely. Oh, Matthew! This is something I'll remember always."

Horses were her weakness, and seeing them in a habitat so different from what she was used to was thrilling. _How well Matthew knew her!_ She could not stop smiling—and to think she almost was angry at him for dragging her away from the comfort of the villa! She called to Paul: "Is this behavior typical of the horses?"

Paul nodded. "They spend so much time in the water they often are called 'the Horses of the Sea.' Though they are 'wild,' we _Gardians_ consider them to be 'part wild,' as they live in close contact with humans. We even domesticate some of the ones born in the wild. Not only are these horses strong and able to withstand extreme elements, they are even-tempered— suitable for riding—and though they are technically wild, living among humans for tens of thousands of years has made them friendly and curious."

"Did you say _'Gardians'_?" inquired Matthew.

" _Oui_. That is what we call ourselves. In America I suppose we would be called 'cowboys,' but our job consists of more than simply herding and roping," Paul said smugly. "We truly are their guardians and use them to herd the Camargue bulls and cattle that are also indigenous to these wetlands." He snickered and lit another cigar. "And confidentially, we also take our name from the plains to the north known as _Le Gard_. Would you like to move closer?"

"Could we?" asked Mary excitedly.

"Is it safe?" asked Matthew skeptically.

"It's perfectly safe," replied Paul. "They're used to human contact. They'll be as interested in you as you are in them. Come."

The cool sea air bit at her face as Mary followed Paul down to the shore. Matthew held her hand in a firm grip, for they had to maneuver down a steep, sandy embankment to reach the horses. As much as he knew of Mary's love for horses, her lack of fear made him nervous. Being in the proximity of these wild creatures not knowing how they would react to their presence filled him with trepidation. Mary, however, had no such anxiety. Being so close to such magnificent horses in their natural state was an experience she never dreamed she'd have, and she couldn't wait to get nearer to them.

Once they reached the shore, Paul told them to stand still. "Let them approach you. They'll come, you'll see. They're very curious animals."

Mary and Matthew stood stock still as Paul clucked and whistled softly to get the creatures' attention. Some horses remained in the surf, splashing about as the gentle waves broke around them; others, however, reacted to Paul's noises by raising their heads and moving towards the trio. Soon Mary and Matthew found themselves surrounded by dozens of horses, all seemingly vying for their attention. Mary reached out to a dappled stallion and began caressing his muzzle as the horse grunted and sniffed, bobbing his head and pawing at the sand. "Oh, you're a beauty, aren't you?" she said giddily. "Matthew, look! Isn't he a handsome fellow?" Just as Matthew was about to answer, he felt a nudge at his back and turned to find a white horse nodding at him, its white mane flying in the breeze.

"We call that fellow 'Sherlock' because he's curious and enigmatic," Paul said to Matthew. "He doesn't seem to socialize much with the other horses, but he's almost always the first to approach visitors. He seems intrigued by you, _Monsieur_." He chuckled as the horse continued to nudge Matthew and sniff at his clothes.

"Are these horses indigenous to this area?" asked Matthew, as he stroked Sherlock's withers.

"They are, and it's believed this breed is the oldest living breed of horses in all the world," said Paul proudly. "Their origin is unknown, but they've lived here in the Camargue marshes and in wetlands of the Rhône delta for centuries."

As Matthew was about to question Paul further, he heard Mary's laugh ring out and turned to see her chasing after a small white horse that had snatched the cloche from her head. As soon as she came close to it, the horse trotted into the water shaking its head and snorting. She stood on the shore and tried to cajole the horse to come near but to no avail. " _Madame_ ," called Paul, "that sly fellow's name is Fagin. He's the thief of the group and is known for taking anything that isn't tied down. My apologies. I should've warned you. He may or may not return your hat to you."

"That's perfectly all right, Paul," she replied. Losing her expensive hat was worth every minute of the experience. "Fagin, you sly boy," she laughed. She turned away from him, and he followed her only to shy away when she turned towards him once again. "Keep the hat if you must," she announced, "but you're being very naughty."

She soon was surrounded by a group of grey and white horses who seemed bent on capturing her notice. Matthew stood mesmerized and watched as she caressed and patted and nuzzled the creatures, showing no fear, talking softly, enjoying the experience. Her hair flew about her head, her face glowed, and it occurred to him she never had looked more beautiful. Seeing her against the backdrop of the azure sea and sky caused him to swallow the lump in his throat. Nicolas had warned him that the horses might not make an appearance but that it would be worth the effort if they did. _How right he was!_ Mary seemed thrilled with the experience, much to his relief. Her love of horses wasn't limited to Diamond and Babylon, and he knew she missed riding, despite her assurances that she would resume the activity after the baby was born. All the hubbub leading up to the wedding had prevented her from visiting the Abbey's stables, so he hoped her spending time with these horses would make up for that. As he continued to watch her, he noticed that one of the horses seemed intrigued with her belly, for it nudged her midsection gently and rubbed the side of its head against her.

"Mary, be careful," warned Matthew, concerned that the horse seemed a little too curious about his wife's condition.

"It's all right, Papa," she replied with a grin, her eyes shining. "I think she and I have something in common." She wrapped her arms around the horse's neck as it continued to nuzzle her. Never in her life had she been close to wild horses, and she knew the experience was one she'd never forget.

Gradually the horses began to disperse, leaving Mary and Matthew to watch as they disappeared into the marsh. She observed that Fagin continued to wave his new acquisition about as he kicked up his hind legs before galloping into the wetland.

"Well, that's that," she laughed. "I'll never see that hat again, but losing it was a small price to pay." She turned to Matthew, her eyes aglow. "This has been wonderful, Matthew. I've missed Diamond and Babylon very much, so this was just what I needed."

"I'm glad, darling. I think we are very lucky the horses felt the need to come to the sea during our visit, right Paul?"

" _Oui_ , you're very fortunate. Usually, they make their runs in the early morning and at sunset. They must have known you were coming. Do you have time to visit some more of the reserve? There is a myriad of other wildlife in the area."

"Do we have time, Matthew? I'd love to see more." Despite her initial misgivings, the day had proved to be one of her favorites of the trip. Seeing horses in their natural surroundings was something she'd never imagined, and it meant all the more to her because Matthew had arranged it.

"The train from Marseille leaves at 7:00, so we have some time. Lead on, Paul." Given Mary's initial negative reaction, the fact that she now was enthusiastic about the visit made Matthew eager for her to see more, and he laughed when she jumped eagerly into the battered lorry.

* * *

They spent the trip back to Antibes recounting the day—laughing about Fagin's antics, marveling about the different species of birds, recalling the bumpy ride in Paul's lorry, marveling at the bulls and cattle that occupied much of the landscape. They sat together eating sandwiches Matthew had purchased at a little café just outside the Marseille station. Their picnic basket was a little worse for wear after bouncing about in the back of Paul's truck all day, but the vacuum flask had survived unscathed and had been rinsed and refilled with water.

As the train continued to clatter over the countryside, Matthew thumbed through a newspaper he had purchased in the station, and Mary was lost in thought thinking about what had transpired during their three weeks together. She shook off the memory of her poisoning, thinking instead of how she and Matthew had meandered through ancient towns shored up with grey-and-brown-flecked stones, which kept them perched precariously on the edges of the jagged hills. She remembered strolling among ornate, historical structures and browsing through quaint shops situated on narrow streets peopled with endless clay pots which bore leafy, red flowers. They had explored ancient olive groves, prehistoric sites, medieval abbeys, elegant churches, and new art deco buildings. She recalled driving over gravel roads and up and down maquis-cloaked hills covered in cypress and mimosa trees. Today's excursion had been especially thrilling, despite the loss of her costly cloche. Seeing the horses, flamingos, and other wildlife was something she never expected to experience. It had been a marvelous three weeks and being able to share it all with Matthew meant the world to her. He had proved to be a solicitous, warm-hearted confidant whose sole objective seemed to be pleasing her. She relished his love making, but she treasured his companionship even more.

When he finished with his paper, Matthew pulled Mary's legs into his lap, untied and removed her shoes, and began massaging her feet.

"Oooh, I can't tell you how marvelous that feels," moaned Mary. "It seems lately I just can't stand as long as I used to. My back and my ankles seem to be bearing the brunt of this pregnancy."

"I hope you weren't too shaken up by riding in the lorry," said Matthew, his voice filled with concern. "It didn't occur to me the trip would be quite so jarring."

"I'm fine, and getting to see the horses and the rest of the wildlife was worth all the battering. I wouldn't have missed it for anything." She leaned back and wiggled her toes.

"I'm glad. You know, Nicholas was right. The Camargue was not to be missed." He continued massaging her feet, pressing her instep, caressing her swollen ankles, causing her to emit throaty sounds that expressed her pleasure.

"What was your favorite part?" she asked sleepily. She had come to realize that Matthew's hands were indeed magic. _He had revealed yet another hidden talent._

"Watching you enjoy yourself with the horses," he replied softly. "They seemed to sense you posed no danger. Being able to communicate with them is a real gift."

"Mmmmm. They are beautiful creatures," she replied, settling back against the seat and closing her eyes.

"Yes. Beautiful." Matthew sat quietly and watched as she relaxed into his touch. She was everything to him. He wanted to keep her safe, protect her, support her, cherish her, make her happy, help her fulfill her dreams. Watching her face in repose, he thought about their time together during the past three weeks. Learning about her traits was a revelation—she made soft noises in her throat when tasting something sweet; her hands fluttered when she was enthusiastic; she applied her perfume in stages: each wrist, behind each ear, down her throat; she preferred hot baths and tepid showers; she awoke gradually and liked to languish in bed before rising; she despised clutter; she shuddered when he kissed a particular spot behind her left ear; she was aloof among strangers; she was a prolific letter writer; she was an uninhibited lover; she was beauty, cleverness, independence, strength, sensuality, and every desirable and good thing rolled into one package. _He loved her so_. He swallowed hard, his expression becoming dark and hungry. His lips parted just a little, the tip of his tongue caressing the tender, wet flesh inside his upper lip. His luminous eyes darkened into torrents, and he barely was able to contain his arousal. He checked his watch. They would be back at the villa within the hour. He couldn't wait to take her in his arms, bury himself in her, lose himself in the velvet warmth of her embrace.

Mary opened her eyes, saw his expression, and smiled.


	43. Chapter 43

There had been few mornings since they married that Mary and Matthew didn't wake spooned together, his hands caressing her body and him still inside her as her body pulsed around him. Their last morning in Juan-les-Pins was no exception, and as he placed gentle kisses on her shoulder, she covered his hands with hers.

She arched her back and stretched. "I suppose we should get up now if we want to have breakfast before we have to leave for the train."

"You're right, but it's awfully hard to leave the comfort of this bed—and you." He nuzzled into her neck and threw his leg over her hip, enclosing her and causing her to moan.

Feeling the evidence of his arousal growing inside her, she said breathlessly, "Matthew, we can't…"

"Oh, yes, we can."

* * *

They stood on the terrace outside their bedroom—her back to his chest, his arms enveloping her, pulling her near, the warmth of the moment radiating off them both. Despite the low temperature, it was a perfect morning—the sea and sky seemingly clad in colors designed to evoke heart-clenching emotion. The blues, magentas, reds, and pinks shimmered and danced on a golden backdrop, leaving Matthew and Mary nearly speechless so in awe were they of the beauty before them. The couple was dressed for the early train, their luggage already on its way to the station and Nicolas awaiting them downstairs, but they found themselves loath to move.

* * *

They had spent the previous day roaming the villa and its grounds, neither of them willing to leave the confines of the haven they had found so enchanting. Revisiting the places they frequented over the course of the month was bittersweet, for ingrained in them were lasting memories of times spent together during their first days as man and wife. In the morning they wandered through the villa's many rooms—Mary using the time to jot notes about the décor in a journal as Matthew inspected the many intriguing architectural elements. While Matthew perused the shelves in the cozy library, Mary pulled a copy of _Wuthering Heights_ from a high shelf and as she thumbed through the pages, a slip of paper on which was written in a distinctly feminine hand "Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same" fluttered to the floor.

"Matthew, look at this." She handed him the paper. "I wonder if Zelda copied this from the text."

"It's possible, I suppose. Isn't it a reference to Catherine and Heathcliff?"

"I believe so. I've always loved the intense simplicity of that statement. The tragedy of their story stayed with me for quite a while when I first read the novel as a girl." She smiled sadly. "I always wondered if I had a Heathcliff in my future."

"What do you mean?"

She took a deep breath before revealing one of her deepest desires. "Oh, you know, someone who one day might love me enough to say, "Be with me always — take any form — drive…"

Matthew interrupted her saying quietly, "…drive me mad! Only _do_ not leave me in this abyss where I can not find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I _can not_ live without my life! I _can not_ live without my soul!"

"You know it! How?" She looked curiously into his face and saw him flush with emotion as he took the book from her hand.

His voice quavering, he replied, "Mary, _Wuthering Heights_ was the first novel I read after you moved to London." He looked down at the book and sighed. "I never thought I'd enjoy this type of story, but one rainy afternoon I was feeling rather morose and pulled it from the shelf. I couldn't put it down. The story was so…I felt Heathcliff's pain, Mary." He inhaled deeply and continued. "Losing Catherine meant losing himself, and I knew that feeling. I knew then I'd spend the rest of my life pining for you just as he pined for her." The painful memory of losing the love of his life was written across his face, and his eyes swam with emotion.

She took his face into her hands and looked deeply into his eyes. "Oh, Matthew! I felt the same. You were… _are_ …my soul, my darling, and as much as I tried to fight it, I knew I never would love anyone else the way I loved you."

His anguished look gradually replaced by a boyish smile, he tossed the book onto a nearby settee and said, "Then aren't we lucky?"

"Lucky?"

"Yes, for we have the happy ending that eluded Heathcliff and Catherine. We _are_ one, Mary. You're my life and my soul, and I will spend the rest of my life believing that and being grateful for the chance to live with you and love you."

"Oh, me, too, Matthew. Me, too."

* * *

They spent that last afternoon strolling hand-in-hand along the beach, their feet bare despite the water's chilly temperature, and stopped periodically to gaze wistfully at the seascape or kiss passionately as they stood in shallow water that raced between their toes. At one point, they were so caught up in each other that their balance was thrown off, nearly causing them to tumble into the water; however, Matthew managed to find his footing and grabbed Mary's waist, preventing her from getting doused. Laughing together, they sat on the sand and talked about all they had seen and shared until the sun touched the horizon and created a sunset so brilliantly red, they fell silent and simply held each other in the glow.

* * *

Their last night, too, was spent alone—eating by candlelight in front of the limestone fireplace, sharing memories and sharing their hopes for the future. For their final meal, René had arranged for them to have some of their favorite dishes— _bouillabaisse_ , _foie gras_ with a sauté of black cherries, risotto flecked with tiny sweet peas and mushrooms and topped with sea bass and plump, grilled gambas, followed by an almond soufflé for dessert. René stood unobtrusively at the side of the room and watched as the lovers ate and laughed and enjoyed the meal and each other's company.

It occurred to René that this couple provided a marked difference from the previous tenants, for Scott and Zelda's time in the villa was marked by her screaming fits and his alcoholic rantings. Life in the villa was anything but serene when the Fitzgeralds were in residence, and it always was a relief when they departed. Serving Lord and Lady Grantham, however, was another matter. Their devotion to each other and kindness to him and the other servants created a pang of regret knowing their time in the villa had come to an end. He had enjoyed bearing witness to Lord Grantham's genuine pleasure whenever Lady Grantham was near, and Lady Grantham's quiet grace served as the perfect accompaniment to the villa's elegant décor. Yes, he would miss their presence, for they had brought life and love into the residence to which he had devoted so much of his adult life.

After dinner Matthew and Mary stood together on the downstairs terrace and listened to the waves wash the shore. Wrapped in a cashmere shawl and in Matthew's arms, Mary watched as the lighthouse across the water beckoned as it had every evening of their stay. Turning to face him, she took his face in her hands and kissed him gently, saying, "Thank you, Matthew. Thank you for this. Thank you for loving me."

Matthew smiled, his eyes dark and sensuous. "Mary, I will spend the rest of my life loving you. Never doubt that for a moment. As for thanking me, you should know I'm the one who should be thankful. When I think about my life, all I know is I'm nothing without you, Mary, because the power you hold over me gives me life. You're everything to me, and I'm nothing without you."

"These past weeks have proved to me that you are my forever, Matthew. For years, I chose to be alone rather than settle for someone who wasn't you. I love you not only for who you are but also for who I am when I'm with you."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed each knuckle gently. "And I fall in love with you every day, you know. I wake and you're beside me and I fall in love all over again. It's marvelous, really."

They reentered the villa and said goodnight to René, who watched as they climbed the stairs arm-in-arm. When they reached the top of the staircase, they paused and looked back over the balustrade at the room below, both of them smiling reflectively. Then they turned and entered their bedroom, the light extinguished as they closed the door. René let out the breath he was holding and turned to call the maids in to clear the table.

* * *

They finished _Gatsby_ together—lying in bed as the firelight's shadows flickered on their bedroom walls. The light from the table lamp illumined the pages just enough so that Matthew could read, his rich baritone dancing over the words as Mary's fingers swept his bare chest, rising to turn the pages only to settle back on that defined plane once the task was finished.

They made love into the wee hours of the morning.

* * *

Saying farewell to the beauty of the Riviera was bittersweet, for they had learned so much about each other and hated to leave the comfort of the lovely cocoon they had spun during their month together. Still, they were returning to a life they both cherished, and they looked forward to their roles as caretakers of the Abbey in Downton. Mary's pregnancy filled them with anticipation and hope, the only twinge being the unknown effects of the poisoning that almost wrecked their otherwise idyllic honeymoon.

They stood quietly, each lost in thought, until René emerged from the French doors and announced that all was ready for their departure.

"Thank-you, René," said Matthew quietly, not turning away from the view or letting go of his wife. "We'll be down in a moment."

Mary turned in Matthew's arms and hid her face in the confines of his neck, and he buried his nose in her hair.

"Oh, Matthew," she said softly, "it's so hard to leave, yet the word 'home' sounds so comforting. Promise me we'll return someday."

"Of course, we'll return." He chuckled. "Maybe we'll even bring the children a time or two."

She raised her head and looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "The children?"

"Yes. The children. I'm looking forward to a houseful, aren't you?" Matthew grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. "There's no reason we should stop at one, is there?"

"I suppose not," replied Mary, "although you might be jumping the gun a bit." Her hand moved unconsciously to her middle, caressing the bump that had grown markedly larger since their arrival a month before. "Check with me again in five months."

* * *

They arrived in London in the middle of a rainy afternoon, greeted by gray skies and a biting wind that sent them scurrying down the platform towards the warmth of the stationhouse. Mary waited patiently while Matthew directed the chauffeur to their bags, and she found herself staring vacantly as both departing and arriving passengers moved around her. She supposed returning to London meant the end of their honeymoon and the beginning of some sort of normalcy, yet she could not shake the feeling that they also were returning to the reality of having to deal with any aftereffects of her poisoning. Not only was she concerned about the effects on their child, but also she knew Matthew now would search high and low for Flo and Maud in order to bring them to justice. Their month in Juan-les-Pins had been dreamlike; the return to London broke the spell.

She was tired from the journey home. Their private accommodations on board the train were fairly comfortable, but the hard berth had exacerbated her aching back, so she looked forward to the relief afforded by sleeping in her own bed. Prior to their leaving Juan-les-Pins, she contacted Gleason to have him prepare Painswick House for their arrival and told him to let Stephens know of her return. She realized her wardrobe would need major culling, for the beautiful frocks she had chosen so carefully now no longer fit thanks to her growing girth. Mary hoped Stephens's talent with needle and thread would enable her to alter some of the frocks for her to wear until proper maternity clothing could be procured.

Once Matthew had their baggage sorted, they rode silently to Painswick House where Gleason greeted them, his stoic face barely concealing the delight he felt at the arrival of his mistress and her husband. As he waited at the door, he noticed that, despite her healthy color, his mistress looked tired and drawn. He put it down to the exertion of traveling overnight and hoped it to be nothing more. He was aware of her poisoning and subsequent recovery in Juan-les-Pins—few servants had more access to gossip than he—and he was relieved to see she still was with child.

Once she and Matthew entered the house, he announced, "Lady Mar …er… Grantham, there are several messages on your desk in the study. I took the liberty of culling out extraneous communiqués."

"Thank you, Gleason. I'll see to them in a while. Right now, I'm going to my room to rest. Please send Stephens up with a cup of tea." She turned to Matthew and said, "Darling, do you mind? Can you find something to occupy yourself for an hour or so?"

"Of course, Mary. I'll call Mother and let her know of our plans to stay here at least until after your appointment, and then I'll call Stuart. It's been a while since I thought about our portfolio, so I'll see about setting up an appointment with him, as well. I assume you'll want to meet with him, also?"

"Please. Yes. I'm to see the doctor tomorrow, so perhaps the following day? I also need some new clothes, so I'm going to contact Coco."

"New clothes?" Matthew's confusion at her pronouncement caused Mary to roll her eyes at his lack of awareness.

"Darling, in case you haven't noticed, my midsection is expanding rather rapidly. It won't be long until nothing will fit. I'll need maternity wear to see me to the end of my pregnancy."

"Oh. Right." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mary. It was foolish of me not to realize." He kissed her cheek and ran his hands down her arms. "Get some rest, my love. I'll check on you in an hour or so."

* * *

Doctor Fontenot had arranged for Mary and Matthew to meet with Dr. Beresford Ryder, an obstetrician of some note with a lucrative London practice near Hyde Park. They arrived at the appointed time and were escorted into his office for a pre-examination conference. When he strode into the room, Mary liked him immediately. A middle-aged man with sparkling eyes and a compassionate smile, Dr. Ryder seemed the epitome of the kindly physician. Sitting at his desk, he thumbed through a folder, and after clearing his throat, he spoke directly to Mary: "I'll be candid, Lady Grantham. What you experienced three weeks ago would have led to a miscarriage in most cases. Because you were far enough along in your pregnancy, thankfully that did not occur; however, that doesn't mean the danger has passed. According to Dr. Fontenot's notes, you were still experiencing side effects as recently as last week. Is this true?"

Mary swallowed to ease the dryness in her throat and answered, "Yes. I've had occasional numbness and trembling in my left arm, and my vision still is blurred at times."

"What about headaches?"

Mary hesitated and looked at Matthew, who gazed at her quizzically. She had not told him about the occasional headaches that plagued her in the afternoons. "I have them, sometimes in the afternoon, but after a rest they're usually gone." Ignoring Matthew's grip on her hand, she continued: "Honestly, they don't occur every day, and once I rest a while, I feel fine."

"Let me be frank, Lord and Lady Grantham. The introduction of a teratogenic agent during pregnancy…"

"I'm sorry, a _what_?" asked Matthew, leaning forward.

"Forgive me. A teratogen is a chemical, infectious agent, physical condition, or deficiency that, on fetal exposure, may alter fetal form and structure or subsequent function. In your case, Lady Grantham, the teratogen was Coriaria myrtifolia, better known as redoul, quite a potent poison, truth be known, but according to Dr. Fontenot, your exposure was a relatively mild one, so we can be grateful for that." Dr. Ryder paused, sensing that his new patient and her husband nearly were overcome with fear because of his explanation. Quickly changing tack, he smiled benignly and said, "Now, before we talk more about the possible effects on the fetus, I'd like to perform a routine examination. Have you had a chance to hear your baby's heartbeat?" When Mary and Matthew shook their heads, he continued, "Well, it seems as if you're fairly close to twenty weeks along, so with any luck, you'll have a chance to hear it today." He called for his nurse to escort Mary to an examination room where she would change into a cotton gown.

"I'd like to be present during the examination," said Matthew resolutely.

"I see you're one of those modern husbands," laughed Dr. Ryder, "so if Lady Grantham has no objection…"

Mary smiled at her husband's earnestness and said softly, "I have no objection, doctor. No objection at all."

* * *

After drawing blood, taking a urine sample, and performing the usual type of examination, Dr. Ryder said, "We'll know more once I examine your fluids under the microscope, but I can say your pregnancy seems to be progressing rather normally, Lady Grantham, although at this point, you could stand to gain a few more pounds. Now, are you ready to hear the baby's heartbeat?"

"Please," Mary and Matthew said together.

"If you don't mind, it's best if my stethoscope has direct contact with your skin, Lady Grantham." Mary nodded and sat back on the examination table. Matthew stood at her side and ran his hand along her shoulders.

The nurse placed a folded sheet on Mary's lap and then helped her lie back and raised the cotton gown to just below her breasts. As Dr. Ryder moved the stethoscope across her belly, Matthew held his breath and said a silent prayer. He knew Mary had been feeling what she called "flutterings," yet he could only take her word that they indicated the baby's movement. As much as he wanted to be an active participant in Mary's pregnancy, there was little he could do but provide moral support.

Mary bit her lip as the cold instrument moved back and forth across her belly. Although Dr. Ryder wouldn't guarantee they'd be able to hear the heartbeat that day, she needed the confirmation, the assurance, that the child in her belly indeed was alive. The wait was interminable, and she felt herself become more and more tense as the doctor's efforts seemed for naught.

The doctor's bony fingers held the device gently, and he moved it along a seemingly unmapped course. His mouth twisted and his eyes narrowed as he continued to search for the familiar sound of a fetal heartbeat. He truly hoped he'd be able to provide the couple with some comfort since the rest of the news he had to share was not so positive. "Sometimes the heartbeat is elusive," he said to the nervous couple, "and at this point in your pregnancy finding it can be hit or miss."

"We were told by our physician at home it might be twenty-four weeks until the heartbeat could be detected," said Matthew nervously, repeating Doctor Clarkson's declaration.

"Well, that used to be true enough," replied the doctor with a wink, "but these days our equipment is much improved, and, if I may be so bold, I'm very skilled at this sort of examination." He continued moving the stethoscope, unwilling to admit defeat. He knew this couple _needed_ confirmation of their baby's viability, and he was determined to provide it.

Suddenly, a smile broke across his face, and he announced, "There it is! Ahh. There's no other sound like it. Are you ready to hear it, Lady Grantham?"

"Oh, please! Yes!" Placing the buds in her ears, Mary's eyes widened with wonder and immediately filled with tears as the thumping _swish, swish, swish, swish_ filled her ears, and she cried, "It's beautiful. Oh, Matthew, it's perfect." She looked to the doctor. "I thought it would sound similar to our heartbeats, but it's completely different." She closed her eyes, tears trailing down her cheeks, and she reached for Matthew's hand.

Dr. Ryder was quick to assure her, "In utero, a baby's heartbeat is much faster, Lady Grantham. Believe me, this child's is perfectly normal. From what I can tell so far, there are no anomalies. Now, shall we let Lord Grantham listen before he collapses into a heap?"

Mary laughed and nodded as she pulled the buds from her ears, careful not to jostle the instrument stationed on her belly.

"I think I need to sit down for this," said Matthew shakily, "otherwise, you might have to scrape me up from the floor."

He pulled over a chair and sat beside Mary. When he put the buds in his ears, his mouth opened in amazement, and tears pricked his eyes. The sound was magical and otherworldly, and as he continued to listen, he placed his hand on Mary's belly and murmured, "We made that, you and I." Noticing Mary's blush, he added quickly, "My God, Mary, for as long as I live, I'll never forget this sound." He listened a bit longer, eyes focused on Mary's smiling face, thinking there were no words to describe what he was feeling at that moment. Their child, the embodiment of their love, was real, alive, and already loved beyond measure.

Dr. Ryder removed the stethoscope from Mary's belly and said, "When you are dressed, Lady Grantham, I'll talk with you and your husband in my office. There are still a few things we need to discuss."

* * *

Still almost breathless from hearing the miracle that was their child's heartbeat, Matthew and Mary sat together in Dr. Ryder's office awaiting his evaluation. Hearing the heartbeat gave them hope that all would be well, so the doctor's dour demeanor when he entered the room gave them pause.

He sat behind his desk, looked at Mary, and began to speak in a serious, even tone. "The symptoms you're still experiencing, however infrequent, indicate the poison has not been totally eradicated from your system. It will take time for it totally to disappear, but I'm pleased to say you seem in good health despite your ingestion of it, the tremors and blurred vision notwithstanding. The backache and headaches you mentioned unfortunately are most likely side effects of your pregnancy but are not related to the poisoning, thank goodness. We'll keep an eye on your blood pressure, though, and you must let me know immediately if anything becomes unbearable."

Dr. Ryder cleared his throat and continued. "Now, Lady Grantham, it would be remiss of me not to tell you the complications you might face further into this pregnancy—and I stress the word _might_ , lest you think the worst." Matthew's arm went around Mary's shoulders immediately, and she gripped his other hand. "A poison such as redoul might lead to premature delivery, newborn infection, birth defects, stillbirth, or miscarriage. It probably is a given that the baby will have a low birth weight, which is why I encourage you to eat well during the remainder of your pregnancy. Now, let me say again _might_ , for I cannot say for certain that one or more of these things will occur."

The doctor's words ricocheted off Mary's body and flew about the room, finally settling in her heart. She found it hard to breathe and suddenly became aware of Matthew's hands—one on her back, the other gripping her left hand, causing her rings to burrow into her flesh. A cold numbness possessed her, and she straightened in her chair, fighting off the trembling that threatened to overtake her.

"What should we do?" she whispered.

"We'll keep a close eye on you for the remainder of your term, and I suggest you make arrangements to give birth in my hospital here in London. Spending the final two months of your pregnancy here would be ideal, but you should plan on being here for your final month at least."

Just as Dr. Ryder finished speaking, Flo's garish face rose in Matthew's memory, and he had to quell his rage in order to respond to the doctor's proposal. The woman had very nearly destroyed what should be one of the happiest times in his and Mary's lives, and he found himself possessed by the desire for revenge. "That will not be a problem, Dr. Ryder," said Matthew, his jaw set and his eyes determined. "We'll do whatever is necessary."

"That's good to hear, Lord Grantham. I'm sorry to cast a pall over what should be a joyous time. Just know that from what I've seen today, I'm fairly optimistic, and so should you be. The baby's heartbeat is strong, and as I said earlier, there seem to be no anomalies. We'll just have to be a little more vigilant than normal, that's all."

* * *

After dinner Matthew sat alone on the sofa in the sitting room, a glass of whisky in his hand. Mary had been unusually quiet at dinner and afterward had retired to their bedroom, pleading exhaustion but assuring him she felt fine otherwise. Thinking back on their visit to Dr. Ryder that afternoon, Matthew felt as if he had been on a roller coaster ride of epic proportions—hearing their child's heartbeat had elated him, yet knowing he or she might be in danger sent him into a dark abyss. As a result, he knew finding Flo needed to be a priority if he were to assuage his anger. He was fearful the repercussions of her actions might prove to be almost more than he and Mary could handle, and he hoped seeing her pay for her callousness would provide some solace, for as angry as he had been in Juan-les-Pins, it could not compare to the fury he felt in Dr. Ryder's office that day.

He took another sip of his whisky and tried to squelch the guilt that gripped him every time he thought about Mary's pale form lying so helpless in the hospital that day, for he knew Flo was motivated by her unreasoned attraction to him. He had tried to put aside the gnawing feeling that he should have done _something_ to stop her, but the visit to Dr. Ryder caused his remorse to re-emerge. He knew he had done nothing deliberately to provoke her actions; still, the fact that she was willing to harm his beloved Mary just to satisfy some irrational desire filled him with regret and anger. Resolving to put his guilt aside and focus on providing support for Mary, he finished his drink and went upstairs.

He entered their bedroom expecting to find Mary asleep, so much to his surprise, he found her sitting up in bed, rifling through some literature Dr. Ryder's nurse had given them as they departed his office.

"Darling? I thought you'd be asleep by now," he said as he shrugged off his jacket.

"Too much on my mind, I suppose," replied Mary, not looking up from a pamphlet, "and I was waiting for you."

"Sorry, darling, I lost track of time." He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his. Shaking off his earlier gloom, he said cheerily, "You know, I was thinking. If the baby is going to be born in London, we ought to prepare one of the rooms here as a nursery. The one next door to us is…"

She pulled her hand from his and said sharply. "Let's not rush things, Matthew. There's no guarantee we'll even _need_ a nursery."

"Mary! How can you say that?"

"How can I _not_ , Matthew? You heard Dr. Ryder—premature birth, stillbirth, infection, miscarriage. God! Why prepare a room for a child who may not live to inhabit it?" By the time she finished speaking, her hands were balled into fists, and the visible sinews in her neck reflected how tightly she was wound.

Matthew was stunned. Until that moment, Mary had seemed to be calm and stoic. Certainly, she had been shaken while they were in Dr. Ryder's office—they both were, in fact—but Matthew assumed she had settled herself and resolved to face the future with her usual grace. _This_ Mary was not _his_ Mary, and he wondered what he could do to ease her obvious distress.

He reached towards her only to have her take a deep breath and utter, "Please, Matthew, let's just go to bed. I can't talk about it now. Perhaps later. _Please_." With that she placed the reading materials on her night table, sank down into the covers, and turned on her side away from him.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Matthew awoke to Mary's hands sliding beneath his pajama shirt and over his skin—stroking, caressing, seemingly groping for purchase in the darkness. "Touch me," she whispered, a breath away from his lips. "I need you." The physical, emotional assault raw with yearning and emotion left him breathless, and, instantly aroused, he melded into her, wrapping her in his warmth, finding her mouth, sensing the desire that inflamed his own.

Her legs wrapped around his hips, and when he entered her, he ground into her so deeply, her core fairly burned with the intensity of his thrusts. As she rolled and bucked underneath him, he plunged into her using powerful, deliberate strokes and told her

how beautiful she was

how her body called to him

how he couldn't live without her

how she was everything he'd ever desired.

Her heart pounding against his chest, she moaned into his mouth and devoured his kisses as her hands grasped his taut body. His strength, his passion, his protection were what she needed, and she clutched at him, desperate for release. He hooked his arms under hers and held onto her shoulders, still driving into her, his mouth ravaging her throat, and she panted and trembled and keened as the spring within her tightened. She felt his body begin to stiffen as he increased the speed and intensity of his thrusts and roared, "Come with me, Mary." She arched into him and released—her head and heart nearly bursting from the throes of her orgasm. Matthew, too, came undone as her clenching core caused him to lose control, and he poured himself into her.

She continued clinging to him, sobbing into his neck as he smoothed her hair. "Oh, Matthew, I need…I need…"

"Shhhh," he whispered. "I'm right here. I'm right here with you, and I always will be. We'll get through this together, my darling." He felt the protector in himself rising, wanting to shield her from anything and everything that could possibly harm her, so he pulled her closer and enfolded her trembling body in his arms.


	44. Chapter 44

_**Thank you for your patience. Early summer has not been particularly kind. I appreciate your generous reviews and comments so very much.**_

* * *

 _Previously:_

 _She continued clinging to him, sobbing into his neck as he smoothed her hair. "Oh, Matthew, I need…I need…"_

" _Shhhh," he whispered. "I'm right here. I'm right here with you, and I always will be. We'll get through this together, my darling."_ _He felt the protector in himself rising, wanting to shield her from anything and everything that could possibly harm her, so he pulled her closer and enfolded her trembling body in his arms._

* * *

Matthew awoke to find a sleeping Mary still wrapped in his arms, the filtered morning light revealing her face to be tear-stained but serene. The previous night weighed mightily on him, for after their lovemaking, he had spent all of his remaining energy consoling her and assuring her—and himself—that all would be well. He had murmured countless soothing words, reminding her of Dr. Ryder's declaration that their child's heartbeat was strong, that for all intents and purposes the pregnancy was progressing normally, and that she had ingested only a small amount of the insidious poison, which more than likely would have no effect on the child.

" _We must stay positive, Mary," he had whispered into her hair. "We can't let ourselves be defeated by dwelling what_ may _come; rather, let's focus on the miracle we've created and look forward to the future."_

 _He recalled Mary's muffled voice replying, "I know. You_ are _good for me, Matthew. It's just that I'm so afraid, and relying on you for comfort still is such a new experience for me."_

" _We're in this together, my darling," he had replied soothingly. "I want you to rely on me just as I rely on you."_

 _Mary's soft voice trembled, "You do?"_

" _Of course, I do. Think of all we've weathered so far. We'll weather this, too."_

" _You're right, Matthew. I know you are._ _Forgive me?"_

" _There's nothing to forgive, my love."_

He had been surprised by Mary's rejection of his nursery proposal the previous evening, but he hoped he had dissuaded her of the notion and that she would see things in a new light that morning. He, too, was apprehensive that their child might be adversely affected by the poison, but he was determined not to let fear overwhelm either of them. He hoped he had convinced Mary they should do all they could to prepare for their child's arrival, which included arranging for a nursery to be in readiness. More than anything, he wanted them to enjoy the coming months, and it seemed to him that furnishing a room in Painswick House could be something they could do together.

What he didn't share with her was the unbridled anger he felt every time he thought of the reason for her fears. Flo and Maud so far had gotten away scot-free, which made his blood boil. Now that he was back in London, he could pursue avenues he had explored while still in France that he hoped would help assuage his guilt and give both Mary and him a modicum of relief. He pulled Mary closer and just as she stirred in his arms, he heard the tinkling clatter of the serving cart as Stevens parked it outside their door. There was a soft rapping on the door, but it didn't open.

"It sounds as if Stevens has delivered our tea," he whispered into Mary's ear as she groaned and stretched. "God, you smell glorious in the mornings, Mary; it's a heady combination of jasmine and spice and sex." Waking up with her each morning continued to be a revelation, for her scent never failed to arouse him. He had convinced her that Stevens's entering their room before they rose for the day was an antiquated custom that needed to be put by the wayside. More than once before they married, the maid had intruded upon an early-morning tryst, and he found himself on the receiving end of embarrassed glances from the otherwise stoic Stevens. After the last interruption, Mary had directed her to leave a tea cart outside their door, much to Matthew's and Stevens's relief.

His warm hands massaged her back and shoulders. "Ummm. That's nice," Mary uttered, placing soft kisses across his chest.

"There are definite advantages to waking up with you," Matthew said as he leaned in and kissed her neck, his mouth resting on her pulse point. He ran his hand up her leg to her hip. "Especially now that Stevens no longer has access to our room in the mornings."

Mary laughed. "I think she's slightly disappointed she no longer gets to see you _en_ _déshabillé._ "

"I'm not certain I'd ever get used to that," mumbled Matthew, his mouth finding the hollow of her neck. His hands continued to explore her body as he remarked, "How is it that your skin always feels like silk? Every time I touch you I think, 'License my roving hands, and let them go, / Before behind, between, above, below.'"

"What's that?"

"It's from John Donne's 'To His Mistress Going to Bed.' Lately, he's become a kind of cult figure, which seems rather odd for someone who was writing poetry almost four hundred years ago." His hands continued to roam over her body as he added, "But his love poetry is some of the most urgent and passionate I've ever read."

" _Urgent_ and _passionate_ poetry? Oh, my. You'll have to share some with me," she said sultrily as she ran her hands down his muscled arms.

He turned her onto her back and settled between her legs. "Gladly. I just happen to have a few volumes from my university days stowed away at the Abbey."

"Good," she replied, tipping her head back and arching into him when his mouth found her nipple. "Now, what was that about licensing your hands?"

"Mmmmm. The next line is 'O, my America! my new-found-land.'"

They dissolved into laughter as his hands found purchase between the softness of her thighs.

* * *

The London to which Mary and Matthew returned still was recovering from the aftermath of what would be called the "Great Flood of 1928." Heavy snow in the Cotswolds during the Christmas period had melted, which caused inland rivers to swell, and on January 7th, the Thames burst its banks and floodwaters gushed into some of London's grandest buildings and subsumed many of the city's narrowest slum streets. The Houses of Parliament, the Tate Gallery, and the Tower of London all were swamped, and fourteen people died and thousands were left homeless.

During Mary and Matthew's meeting with Stuart, they were relieved to discover the properties he managed for them were undamaged; however, when he mentioned the destruction of so many of the structures near the Thames, they immediately inquired about providing some kind of support for the victims.

"Short of providing housing or funds, I'm afraid there's not much anyone can do," said Stuart stoically. "Sarah has been working with the British Red Cross to help find more permanent shelter for the victims, but it's been slow going. And there still are buildings in parts of the city that need the water pumped out of their basements."

Matthew and Mary looked at each other, and Mary asked, "Some of our buildings could be repurposed as temporary living quarters, could they not? Surely Sarah could redirect some of the displaced persons there."

"We have connections to contractors, right?" added Matthew. "Let's pull them from our current projects and have them work quickly to refurbish the buildings. It's the least we can do."

"That's beyond generous," said Stuart, "but are you sure? It could be months before the buildings could revert to their original purposes. Besides, you don't want to stay in London for that length of time, and someone needs to be in charge of a project of this scope."

"Do you think Sarah would be willing to oversee the process?" asked Mary. "She could be our eyes and ears here while we're in Downton. If she's not willing, perhaps she could direct us to someone who is." Mary took Matthew's hand and said softly, "And we'll be back in London periodically over the next several months."

"Why don't you come to dinner tomorrow, and you can speak with Sarah about this then? I certainly can't speak for her; I have a feeling, though, that she'll be delighted with your proposal."

* * *

After their dinner with Stuart and Sarah, Matthew and Mary postponed their departure for Downton for a few days, and the rest of the week they found themselves caught up in the ongoing flood-recovery efforts. They met with contractors and Red Cross officials, visited with victims and emergency workers, and contributed to fundraising drives and clothing collections. Much to their relief, Sarah agreed to manage the refurbishment of several of their buildings and to help select the homeless families that would be relocated into them.

After a particularly arduous tour through one of their properties, Matthew and May returned to Painswick House and settled comfortably in the sitting room. Mary removed her shoes and sat with her swollen feet in Matthew's lap. As much as she wanted to help with the flood recovery efforts, trudging through buildings thick with plaster dust and crowded with workers had taken its toll. She closed her eyes as Matthew massaged her feet and ankles, moaning softly as his thumbs caressed her insteps.

"My darling, I think visiting the renovations is getting to be too much for you. I don't like the look of these ankles," Matthew said as his fingers drummed against her swollen right ankle.

"I'm fine, Matthew. It's a part of being pregnant. I suspect my feet and ankles would swell just as much if I were to go on a shopping excursion."

"Still, it can't be good for you to be around all of those building materials. Besides, from what Sarah has told us, the renovations will be finished in a few weeks. We'll visit the sites again when we return from Downton." Although he did not begrudge helping with the relief efforts, he was anxious to get Mary home to Downton because he felt she was overtaxing herself when she should be resting. There also were matters of the estate that had lain dormant while he and Mary were on honeymoon, and according to his mother, there were rumblings in the village that the Earl's presence was greatly missed.

Their conversation was interrupted when Gleason stepped into the room to deliver the afternoon post, which just had arrived. Mary sorted through it and handed Matthew a very official-looking envelope that had as its return address that of the Chancellor of the Exchequer.

Mary raised an eyebrow as she watched Matthew tear into the envelope eagerly. "My, my. You seem particularly keen to discover what Mr. Churchill has to say. Is it something to do with the Lords?"

"Nooo," he said cagily, his eyes roaming over the lines. When he finished reading, he settled back into his chair and smirked.

"Matthew, what is it?" she asked warily, afraid that the news was dire although the self-satisfied look on his face indicated otherwise.

Unsure how he should impart the delicate information contained in the letter, he said carefully, "Well, I'm certain you remember the kind note from Mr. Churchill and his wife during your…your convalescence."

Mary nodded, remembering how amazed she had been at the number of messages she had received wishing her well.

"I took him up on his offer of help and asked for his assistance in finding Flo and Maud…"

"Matthew! You didn't tell me about this." She paused for a moment and said, "And this letter is his response?"

"Yes. It occurred to me that his position affords him access to certain…er…resources that might be of help, so I contacted him a little over a week ago."

"So, what does he say?"

"Um…he's given me the name of an investigator he's used in the past. Evidently, this man is quite skilled at finding all sorts of information. Mr. Churchill writes here, 'He can be relied upon to exhibit discretion since his clients most certainly do not wish to launder their dirty linen in public.'" Matthew harrumphed. "It would not bother me in the slightest if those women's names were raised on a flag in Trafalgar Square. I just want them found."

Mary noticed how Matthew's jaw tensed as he looked over the letter, the envelope crumpled in his hand. She knew he had spoken with French authorities and had felt stymied when they told him there was little they could do about Flo and Maud unless the women returned to their jurisdiction. As it was, he was left on his own to seek them out and inflict his own measure of punishment on them. Knowing that he had contacted Churchill for assistance illustrated his determination not to let them get away unpunished, and she knew he wouldn't rest until they were dealt with. Although she loved him dearly for his resolve, his obsession with avenging Flo and Maud's attack worried her.

"What else does Mr. Churchill say?" she asked.

"You'll find this interesting, I think. It seems Lord Raines, Maud's husband, has filed for divorce citing desertion." Mary raised an eyebrow and motioned for him to continue. "According to Churchill, she and Flo left Antibes without a word. Apparently, she tried to withdraw money from their accounts but was thwarted when his banker contacted him for his approval."

"How does he know this, Matthew?"

"Ah, it seems Mrs. Churchill is the source of this information. He says here, 'Clemmie made it her business to enquire after Lord Raines while we were in Nice, and he spilled all after she plied him with a bottle of my favorite Plymouth gin.'" Matthew chuckled. "That alone probably was enough to get Churchill to agree to help seek Maud out. I'll contact the investigator in the morning, and we…"

Mary interrupted him by placing her hand on his arm. "Matthew? I understand how much you want to find Flo and Maud, but please don't let yourself get overwhelmed with thoughts of revenge and guilt. It's not your fault that any of this happened."

His face darkened as he replied, "I know that, Mary."

"Do you?"

"Yes. It's just that their thoughtless attack on you has had far more repercussions than they bargained for. They—especially Flo—wanted you out of the way, if only temporarily, and risked your and our child's lives in the process. I can't let them get away with that, Mary! Those women were reckless and evil, and I won't rest until they're found."

He gazed into her eyes for several moments, imploring her to understand how much he loved her, how he knew his world would have ended if she had succumbed to the poison they fed to her so cavalierly, how there was nothing in the world he wouldn't do for her. Hiring an investigator was the first step in attaining justice, and having Churchill on his side was an added bonus. He knew Mary was worried for him, but his anger was eating away at him, and he wouldn't rest until the memory of Mary lying helpless in that hospital bed finally was put to rest.

* * *

The barren winter landscape flew by as Mary and Matthew sat together on the train back to Downton. Mary dozed on Matthew's shoulder as he shuffled through documents Stuart had given him earlier in the week. He was pleased to see that their investment in Imperial Airways was paying solid returns, and the buildings not being renovated for flood victims were at full capacity. He knew the agricultural changes he had instituted on the estate also were thriving, thanks to some solid advice from both tenants and nearby landowners, as well as from his own research. All in all, the estate was on firm financial footing, unlike many of the grand old English estates that once thrived throughout the country.

He was aware that since his arrival at the Abbey, over one-quarter of English estates had changed hands or been demolished. The traditional agricultural foundations of those estates had been under assault from foreign imports for decades, and combined with the cost of war, death duties, and crippling taxes, keeping an estate running required careful management. He remembered Robert's initial resistance to his suggested changes and how difficult it had been to drag him into an acceptance of "modern" methods. They had had more than their share of shouting matches, and it wasn't until the proof of Matthew's expertise, in the form of soaring profits, was presented to him that Robert acquiesced and embraced Matthew's vision.

His upper-middle class upbringing notwithstanding, Matthew always had been respectful of the aristocratic trappings with which he was familiar. He remembered how shocked he had been upon discovering that Somerford Hall in Cheshire, an imposing Georgian house in whose shadow he had been raised, had been demolished. He and his mother were traveling to Manchester for a cousin's wedding in late 1926 and were stunned to see rubble where once the great house had stood. The house was older than the Abbey, having stood since the early 1700s, and the realization that such stateliness could be lost because of fiscal irresponsibility filled him with determination that no such fate would befall the grand house in Downton. Robert always had declared that he was merely the Abbey's caretaker, rather than its owner, and driving past the remains of Somerford Hall, Matthew suddenly understood what Robert meant.

It occurred to him that at no time in his early law career did he ever envision having to juggle the responsibilities he currently faced. Over fifteen years ago, he was a newly-minted solicitor whose sole goal was one day to be a partner in a Manchester law firm. He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, remembering the day the letter arrived that would change his life. He had assumed the mantle of Earl much sooner than he had anticipated, but he was thankful Robert had proved to be an able mentor. He looked down at Mary and smiled. Protecting and caring for the Abbey meant protecting and caring for her and their children as well in the years to come, for she epitomized everything Robert had tried to make him understand about his responsibilities to the estate. He could not—he would not—fail either of them.

* * *

When the A Six pulled in front of the Abbey, Mary and Matthew were greeted by a shivering cadre of three women who barely could contain their joy at seeing the couple. Carson moved quickly to open Mary's door and help her from the vehicle as Matthew raced to her side to escort her to the house.

"Welcome home, my darling!" called Cora, as she embraced Mary.

"It's good to be home, Mama," answered Mary, enjoying the warmth of Cora's arms.

Cora turned to Matthew and clasped his hand saying, "Matthew! It's so good to have you back in Downton."

"Thank you, Cora. I'm glad to see you, too," grinned Matthew. He turned to Isobel and kissed her cheek. "Mama, hello."

"Matthew!" cried Isobel, grasping his shoulders and returning his kiss, "I can't tell you how happy I am that you're home. Did you have a nice trip, dear?" She whirled towards Mary. "Oh! and Mary! You'll have to tell us all about…"

Violet stepped forward and gently poked Isobel in the side with her cane. "Really, Isobel, it's freezing out here. Give all of us a chance to thaw inside before you subject them to your incessant questioning." She looked at Mary and Matthew, and her gaze softened. "Hello, my dears. Welcome back." Her back straightened, and her demeanor returned to its taciturn state. "Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm going in before I freeze to death. Carson?" She took the butler's arm and walked grandly into the house, the rest of the group snickering as they followed her indoors.

Once everyone was inside, they gathered in the library. Mary sat on the couch between Cora and Isobel, and Matthew stood beside Violet, who sat stiffly in a wing chair. The newly-returned couple answered a barrage of questions about their time in Juan-les-Pins, but Mary's poisoning was not mentioned. The subject hung in the room as Mary and Matthew described the villa, the scenery, their outings, the people they met, and the weather. Mary was relieved to hear that the paintings and other items they'd shipped had arrived safely and were stored in an anteroom off the study. Cora told them she had instructed Barrow and Stevens to begin unpacking the loads of luggage once it arrived from the station.

"Thank you, Mama. I'm afraid they'll be at it for quite a while since we managed to bring back a number of things we just couldn't resist. I hope all of you will like what we brought for you."

"I'm sure we will, but it wasn't necessary," replied Cora, eyeing her daughter carefully. "It sounds as if you had a wonderful… I know your days were filled with all sorts of…" She paused and held tightly to Mary's hand.

"It's all right, Mama," Mary said softly. "Matthew, would you share with them what Dr. Ryder told us?"

* * *

When Matthew finished relating what they had learned from Dr. Ryder, the room was silent save for the ticking of the clock.

Finally, Violet cleared her throat and began to speak. "Well, now I have some information for you. That dreadful Robelard woman—what sort of woman encourages people to call her 'Flo'?—evidently is hiding out in Switzerland with her accomplice. Their funds have been cut off, and soon they'll be forced out of the home in which they've resided since they left France. In fact, they may already be out on the street." She unsuccessfully tried to contain her smugness. "I have it on good authority that they've sold nearly all of their jewelry, so it shouldn't be too long before they become desperate."

"Wait a minute," said Matthew. "What do you mean 'their funds have been cut off'? How is that possible? And how did you learn of their whereabouts?"

Violet pursed her lips, and her narrowed eyes twinkled. "I have my ways. All I'll say is I called in a favor or two."

"You didn't tell me about this," sniffed Isobel.

"And why should I? This situation demanded discretion, and you, Cousin Isobel, are the least discreet woman I know." She turned to Matthew and said, "Legally, there isn't much that can be done, but that doesn't mean we cannot make their lives miserable in the interim. No one attacks this family without paying a price. We Crawleys stick together."

* * *

"There," said Matthew as he stepped away from the wall on which he had hung the painting that embodied their memories of _Cote d'Azur_. He had retrieved it after dinner, not willing to wait until one of the servants could uncrate it and bring it to their room.

"It's perfect, Matthew," sighed Mary. "Waking to it every morning will remind me of our perfect honeymoon. Thank you, darling."

Matthew chuckled and took her into his arms. "Waking up with you is all the reminder I'll ever need, but I'm glad we decided to hang the Matisse in our bedroom rather than in one of the public rooms. Somehow, it makes it ours alone." He looked around the refurbished room, taking in the dove-gray walls, soft lighting, and fine mahogany furniture inlaid with zebra wood. It exuded elegance. "This room is marvelous, Mary. You've outdone yourself."

"Thank you, darling. I know how much you like our bedroom at Painswick House, but I wanted to include things in here that appealed to your taste, as well. I hope I've succeeded."

"My love, as long as I have you to sleep with and wake up to, I would be happy in a wooden crate. Decorating certainly is not my forte, so if you're pleased with the room, that's good enough for me." He kissed her softly and said, "But I must admit, the furniture seems particularly fine. I'll definitely enjoy chasing you around this massive bed." He wiggled his eyebrows, causing Mary to laugh gaily. _How he loved the sound of her laughter. She hadn't done enough of that lately._

"Will you now?" She looked at him pointedly and smirked. "That was not my motive for choosing it." Moving a lock of hair from his forehead, she added, "It does sound rather risqué and ever so much fun, though."

"Before we retire for the evening, shall I escort you into the en suite bath, mi'lady? The shower looks particularly inviting."

"Lead on, Sir."

* * *

Propped on pillows placed against the headboard, Mary waited patiently for Matthew to return from his foray into the Abbey's kitchen to retrieve some of Mrs. Patmore's ginger cookies, which he'd enjoyed with his tea earlier in the day.

" _Really, Matthew?" she'd teased. "You ate a fistful at tea. Are you sure there even are any left?"_

" _There's only one way to find out." He grinned and threw on his dressing gown and slippers. "I'll be right back." He blew her a kiss as he shut the door quietly, leaving her shaking her head at his childish antics._

She loved his occasional playfulness because she knew there were times when he felt burdened by the responsibilities he had to shoulder. He constantly assured her that she was his partner, not just his consort, but she knew he would be inclined to take the blame if something went wrong and to give her the credit if something succeeded. She worried that her pregnancy and his determination to wreak vengeance on Flo and Maud only added to his burden, so she resolved to try to keep her own fears in check in order to help assuage his. If returning from the idyll that was their honeymoon brought them back down to Earth, she was determined to make their landing a soft one. Her hands moved instinctively to her belly. "Little one, your papa and I love you so," she crooned. "Please be all right." She felt a familiar flutter and smiled.

Just as she wiped away a tear, Matthew entered the room balancing in one hand a plate on which sat a pile of cookies and two glasses of milk. His grinning visage made her heart leap.

"Look, Mary! I found a treasure trove!" he exclaimed.

"I see you did. You don't think you're going to eat those in bed, do you?"

"Of course, we are, my darling."

" _We?_ I don't recall saying I wanted any."

"Now, now. The doctor said you needed to gain some weight, and these cookies are just the ticket." He plopped onto the bed and handed her a glass of milk. He then set the plate on top of the duvet and motioned towards it. "Here. Take one. They're delicious." He took a large bite of one of the cookies and beamed.

"Matthew, you're getting crumbs all over the bed."

"I don't recall your complaining when we ate baguettes in bed in the villa. I believe we produced a lot of crumbs that night."

"That was different."

"Different how?" His eyes sparkled as he took another bite.

She blushed and said haltingly, "I…I don't know. It just was." Memories of that night came flooding back. They were in bed late one afternoon after a particularly strenuous round of lovemaking, and Matthew convinced her to go with him to raid the kitchen. They'd brought back bread, cheese, tapenade, and prosciutto and proceeded to have a feast in the middle of their bed. They fed each other, ate wantonly, and missed dinner. It was one of the most sensuous experiences of her life.

"That's the least persuasive argument I've ever heard." He finished the cookie, picked up another, and held it in front of her. "Here. Have a bite. You know you want one."

"All right. One bite, but that's it, Matthew. I mean it."

"Ha! I knew you couldn't resist." He rubbed his arm where Mary hit him and laughed. He began eating another cookie as Mary sipped her milk. Clearing his throat he turned to her and asked, "Mary, were you as surprised as I was that Violet seemed to know so much about Flo and Maud's whereabouts?"

She broke off a piece of his cookie, chewed thoughtfully, and replied, "Not really." Seeing his raised eyebrows, she added, "Granny is nothing if not persistent. More than likely she called some of her acquaintances in London and badgered them for information."

"Hmm. It seems as if I needn't have hired an investigator since Inspector Violet is on their trail."

"You don't know how right you are," replied Mary.

He chuckled, "If I've learned one thing from all of this, it's not to underestimate the tenacity of the women in our sphere. Between Violet and Clementine Churchill, it seems there's nothing they can't unearth. Seriously, though, I plan to sit down with her at the Dower House tomorrow and find out exactly what she's uncovered. It may well be I'll be able to confront Flo and Maud sooner than I expected."

Mary set down her glass and took Matthew's face in her hands. "Just promise me, my darling, promise me that you won't do anything rash. We're home now and all is well…relatively…so, please, _please_ , keep your head. More than anything I want us to move past what happened and be happy."

He covered her trembling hands with his. "I'll try, Mary, truly. I know you're worried about me. I know you think I'm overburdened and liable to act recklessly. But know this, I'll never do _anything_ to bring you pain or unhappiness. You're always in the forefront of my mind, and because of that, I won't consciously do something that would affect you adversely. You're my life, my love, and the one person in this world I'll try never to disappoint. I promise to spend the remainder of my life making you happy."

"You already make me happier than I ever thought I could be, Matthew." She traced his lips with her fingers and looked down for a moment before her eyes returned to his. "I know I've been difficult…" He started to protest, and she shushed him saying, "No. I know I have, and because of that, you've done your best to comfort me even when you're barely comforted yourself." She took one of his hands and placed it on her belly. "This, this is what matters. No matter what may come, let's believe that all will work out for the best. Thanks to you, I've thought a lot about what Dr. Ryder said, and I want us to move forward with hope, not dread."

"Oh, Mary, I don't know what I've done to deserve you." He moved the plate from the bed to his night table and enfolded her into his arms. He kissed her forehead and said, "On the train this morning, I was thinking about the letter your father sent me fifteen years ago telling me that I was his heir. I felt at that moment my life had changed irrevocably, and meeting you that day at Crawley House cemented the notion."

Mary hid her head in his shoulder and whimpered, "Oh, I was so awful to you that day…"

"And in the days that followed," laughed Matthew as she groaned. "No matter, my love. All that we went through led to our being here like this, and as much as I'd like to change some of what happened, I'll never regret falling in love with you and wanting you and hoping one day we'd be together."

"It seems both of our wishes were granted." She kissed him softly and settled into his arms. "Now, your Lordship, do you suppose you could pass me another one of those cookies?"


	45. Chapter 45

Based on what Violet had said during dinner the previous evening, Matthew knew she had interjected herself into the Flo/Maud problem, and he was determined to find out exactly what her scheme was. He retrieved his bicycle from the storage shed behind the Abbey, whistled for Andromeda, and took off towards the Dower House to speak with the woman, who, he was sure, was as determined as he to rain down punishment on the pair. Despite the chill in the air, the chance to ride on the sunny afternoon was too tempting to resist, so he rode with a smile on his face along the bumpy road. The familiar hills and copses beckoned as he traveled through the countryside, and he enjoyed feeling his muscles tense and relax as he pedaled. Andromeda trotted along beside him, veering off occasionally to explore nearby thickets and groves. She had proved to be an even-tempered, docile animal, and Matthew couldn't help comparing his enjoyment of her company to Robert's devotion to the ever-loyal Isis. Mary had told him once that Earls traditionally owned dogs. He supposed acquiring Andromeda was finding yet another piece of the puzzle that was the Earldom.

He continued down the road, his mind wandering back to the pleasant morning spent with Mary. As wonderful as the honeymoon had been, he was glad to have returned to Downton, for life with Mary now could begin in earnest. After breakfast they had settled in their office, sorting through posts that had piled up during their absence. He never realized attending to estate business could be so stimulating, and in between perusing documents, he found himself staring at his wife as she sat across from him at their partners' desk. As always, Mary diligently compiled the missives into stacks according to her apt assessment of their importance, totally unaware of the effect she was having on him.

" _Look at this, Matthew," she said indignantly, waving an ecru-colored letter in the air, "yet another solicitation from that property management firm in Surrey. I simply do not understand why they are so insistent." She huffed and placed the letter on the "No" stack._

" _Now, Mary," replied Matthew patiently, amused by her pique, "you know_ _the closure of the Surrey powder mills after the war has had an adverse effect on their business. I'm sure they're looking for property owners to help shore up their shrinking client base. You can't blame them for trying."_

" _Honestly, rather than giving them a firm 'not interested,' you'd sit through a boring presentation only to tell them 'no' at the end of it." She huffed and then smiled as she watched him nod resignedly. "You're much more tolerant than I am."_

" _I suppose it's because I've had to rein in my aggravation during negotiations on behalf of clients," he replied with a grin. "You, on the other hand, have free rein to express your annoyance. I'm just glad I haven't been on the receiving end of your displeasure."_

 _Mary laughed, "And you never will be as long as you continue to be agreeable."_

 _Matthew sat back in his chair and stared at her, his eyes shining with admiration._

 _She noticed the look on his face and asked quietly, "What is it?"_

" _It's just that doing_ _the simplest things with you takes my breath away."_

Working with Mary that morning had provided a glimpse of the future, and his smile broadened as he maneuvered the bicycle between the lane's water-filled potholes. He had witnessed her business acumen previously, and now that they were working together in earnest, he felt a kind of contentment he'd only dreamed of, for the true partnership they both had longed for looked to be coming to fruition. They'd divided the work between them—Mary evaluating future investments and financial reports; Matthew overseeing investments and properties already in hand.

The estate, too, would benefit from having their joint attention. Mary's role as Countess of Grantham would be a far cry from her mother's. He remembered the many times Robert had told Cora she needn't be concerned with "estate matters," eschewing any direct involvement on her part. Although he supposed Cora was content to organize dinners, run the house, and sit on charitable committees, Matthew noticed how, at times, her lips drew into a flat line when Robert brushed off her attempts to join in conversations about estate business. He knew Mary had witnessed first-hand how her mother had been relegated to "ornament" status and that she would forge an entirely different path from the well-worn one laid by previous generations of countesses.

A lorry appeared up ahead, so he called to Andromeda and moved to the side of the narrow lane as the vehicle careened towards him. It looked to be carrying a heavy load, and Matthew watched carefully as it moved closer. The lorry slowed and came to a creaking stop, and Matthew recognized the driver as Mr. Drewe, one of the tenants whose family had resided on the estate for generations.

Andromeda barked and leapt against the side of the lorry bed, intrigued by the creatures penned inside. Matthew spoke sharply to her, and she immediately returned to his side, her bright eyes and wagging tail evidence of her continued interest. "Hello, Drewe," called Matthew. "What's that you're hauling?" The stench and squeals from the lorry soon made it evident he didn't need to ask.

"Good day, your Lordship," Drewe replied. "Pigs. Real beauties."

"I see. This is the second parcel, correct? I take it the first drift has settled in?"

"It has, Sir. This parcel is the last. The new pens are ready. I can't thank you enough for this opportunity, Sir."

"I should be thanking you, Drewe. Your willingness to take on the pigs allowed Briggs and Thompson to raise sheep."

Drewe shook his head. "Nasty creatures, sheep, and a lot more trouble than pigs, if you ask me."

Matthew was amused at the notion that caring for pigs might be preferable to looking after sheep. The research he had done told him raising both were formidable undertakings. "Is that so?"

"Indeed, it is. Crutching and wigging are not my cup o' tea. I wouldn't be a shearer if the king himself commanded it." He shook his head again, his face clouding with distaste. "No, Sir, give me a passel of pigs any day."

Matthew cleared his throat to hide his amusement and said, "Well, Drewe, I shouldn't keep you. Give my regards to Mrs. Drewe. Once you get the pigs settled, Lady Grantham and I will be by to see your operation."

Drewe nodded and replied, "You both are welcome any time, Sir." The pigs squealed in protest as the lorry lurched from side to side and moved down the road. Andromeda gave chase initially, barking as the lorry noisily shifted gears and picked up speed. The dog continued to bark over her shoulder as she returned to her grinning master, who greeted her with a quick pat on the head.

"Come on, girl. We mustn't keep Violet waiting."

Matthew mounted his bicycle and continued towards his destination. Seeing Drewe reminded him that several tenants were due visits in the next fortnight, and he found himself looking forward to visiting with them all. Many already had implemented new methods of farming and raising fat stock that he had introduced in previous years. Although he spent hours researching new approaches, he had been content to stay on the sidelines, leaving their implementation to John Forbes, the estate agent, and the tenants themselves. Now, however, he found himself eager to help put those approaches into operation—it was as if his life now had a purpose that had eluded him in years past. It wasn't just the acquisition of the title that motivated him—Mary was the impetus for his embracing all the tenets that being the Earl afforded. Her love of Downton and his love for her meshed so smoothly that he couldn't imagine being able to do his duty without her.

By the time Matthew reached the Dower House, both he and his companion were ready for a rest, so he leaned his bicycle against the steps and bounded up the steps to the door. Andromeda sniffed around the porch, looked at him quizzically, and plopped down resting her head on her paws, somehow sensing her presence would not be welcome in the house.

* * *

Violet sat placidly in the Dower House's parlour while awaiting Matthew's arrival. Beside her on the polished surface of the Georgian desk were several documents—letters, reports, her own notes—that she had amassed since hearing the revolting news that two vile women had orchestrated Mary's poisoning in order to insinuate themselves into Matthew's life. _Poisoning!_ Every time she thought of her favorite granddaughter's assault at the hands of those two monsters, her blood boiled, and she bemoaned the fact that she was too feeble to track them down and snap their necks personally. Her mind was not feeble, however, and she set about organizing a scheme for retaliation with a determination she had not felt in years. Her resolve to inflict punishment on those creatures brought her out of the ennui of her dotage, and she hadn't felt so energized in years.

Robert's death had knocked the stuffing out of her although outwardly she maintained her characteristic stoicism and bore the loss as she had been schooled to do. Still, outliving her children was a bitter pill. Mary and Matthew's wedding had had been a welcome diversion, but it served only to intensify the feeling that her time—and usefulness—had come to an end. Exacting revenge was just the ticket that forged new life into her old bones, and she set about calling in favors from those for whom the name "Violet Crawley" still held sway. She thought it a pity that so many of her once-powerful allies were dead or nearly so, but the few who remained had proved their mettle and had provided her with information she planned to share with her grandson-in-law.

Violet was thankful that Isobel was at a monthly meeting with the hospital board. Although they had managed to forge a companionable friendship, Isobel's annoying tendency toward self-righteousness was exasperating. If Isobel disapproved of her machinations, she might try to influence Matthew to reject the plan, so Violet thought it better to leave Isobel in the dark for the time being.

Spratt announced Matthew, and she leaned forward as the young man kissed her papery cheek in greeting. He looked rather windblown, and she said with a hint of derision in her voice, "Did you run all the way from the Abbey, my dear?"

Matthew looked chagrined and flushed saying, "No, Cousin Violet. I took advantage of the weather and rode over on my bicycle." He ran his hands through his hair and sat on the chair nearest hers. "I apologize for my bedraggled state."

"No matter although I must say I find your embrace of those contraptions to be rather baffling."

Matthew smiled in reply but said nothing. He knew it hadn't been that long ago that Violet balked at riding in a motor.

Violet sat taller and straightened her shoulders. "I trust you and Mary are settling in? She seemed to be in her element last evening. How is her health?"

"Oh, you know Mary. She has no complaints, but she appears to be feeling well. When I left, she was planning to meet with Carson and Mrs. Hughes—something about implementing a new house-management scheme."

Violet nodded, a knowing look on her face. She was pleased to hear that her granddaughter was wasting no time taking up the reins as mistress of the Abbey. "I believe it wasn't that long ago I told you she was destined to be your Countess. You should listen to me more often, Matthew."

Matthew chuckled and then turned serious. "That's as maybe, Cousin, but she's more than my Countess—she's my partner in all things pertaining to the estate. She has a brilliant mind for business. I'd be a fool if I didn't keep her by my side. Her role as Countess will be quite different from Cora's—or yours."

Violet stared thoughtfully into space for a moment and then said softly, "I suspect you'd be surprised to know that both Cora and I wielded more power than was evident on the surface. There are all sorts of partnerships in marriage, Matthew." She stared intently into his eyes, her mouth twitching at the corners. "I'm well aware of Mary's intelligence. It's a tribute to you that you recognize and embrace it. I can't say Cora and I were fortunate in that regard."

"Something tells me you would have been a formidable businesswoman, Cousin Violet."

"Well, we'll never know, will we? Now, tell me, when are you scheduled to meet with Doctor Ryder again?"

"In four weeks. In fact, we'll be going to London once a month until May, then we'll stay there until the child arrives…"

"As you told us last night. Now, about your upcoming trip. Is there some way you can manage to interrupt your stay for a day or two?"

Matthew looked at her quizzically. "I'm not sure what you're asking. You mean leave London? I couldn't leave Mary alone…"

"I mean, if it can be arranged, could you manage to get to Calais?"

"Why on Earth…?"

Violet squinted and leaned forward, her eyes boring into his. "I have it on good authority that you might be able to witness the arrest of those two she-devils who dared to assault Mary…"

"WHAT?" Matthew jumped from his chair flabbergasted. "They'll be in Calais? Why would they risk going back to France? Surely they know…"

Violet raised her hand to interrupt. "Sit. Please. Let me explain. Those two are in dire straits and presently are hiding out in Switzerland." Matthew nodded. Violet had mentioned their location the previous evening. Violet's eyes twinkled devilishly. "They'll soon be making their way to Faversham."

Incredulous, Matthew asked breathlessly, "Faversham? How in the world do you know this?"

"Never underestimate the power of the aristocracy when it comes to obtaining information, Matthew. I simply took advantage of a network already in place and asked to be informed if and when those two raised their heads from the muck. An acquaintance spotted them in Bern, and _voilà_ , the information reached me. The rest was easy." Matthew did not miss the smugness in her voice. "No doubt you are familiar with the Fourth Baron Harris?"

"The cricketer?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of the former Governor of the Presidency of Bombay but no matter. His wife Lady Lucy is a dear friend of mine and has remained in Belmont House in Faversham for years while he traipsed all over the country playing his silly games." Violet raised one eyebrow, immediately giving Matthew a vision of Mary. "She met those creatures at parties during several seasons, and they attended a house party at Belmont House a few years ago. She witnessed their shenanigans first-hand." The disdain in her voice was biting. "Needless to say, she cut ties with them; however, she heard rumblings about their exploits and contacted me. I encouraged her to make herself known to them and renew their 'friendship,' for lack of a better term, so she's offered them sanctuary in Faversham." Violet's self-satisfied expression made Matthew shake his head in admiration.

"But what does she have to do with their going to Calais? Surely, they know the risks such a trip would entail."

"Matthew, my dear boy, women such as those two can be lured anywhere by anyone offering a vague promise of recognition or standing. In their case Lady Lucy is planning, shall we say, a holiday in France and needs traveling companions. She's quite talented at deception and will take them under her wing with promises of protection and comradeship. She loves intrigue and conspiracy—especially against status seekers. Those two will be greeted by _gendarmes_ as soon as they step off the ferry in Calais. My question to you is, would you like to be there?"

Matthew sat still for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. From the comfort of her home, Violet had accomplished much more than he hoped his hired investigator would be able to. If Flo and Maud were tricked into returning to France, he would be able, finally, to confront them. "I absolutely would," he answered with a catch in his voice, "but I'm not certain I can make Mary stay in London if I go to Calais."

"It seems to me you have two choices," replied Violet, "either keep the purpose of your leaving from her or tell her why you're going and give her the option of traveling with you. But know this, she might never forgive you for choosing the former. Then again, she may decide not to make the trip although if I were she, nothing could keep me away."

"Oh, she'll definitely want to go, but I don't want to jeopardize her health…"

"She's pregnant, dear boy, not ill." She shook her head and clucked, "You men always underestimate our strength. You said yourself that Mary is feeling well, and the trip from London to Calais is not particularly strenuous. Denying Mary the opportunity to face her assailants is tantamount to trying to hold back the tide. You'd be better served to stand together when you put this chapter to rest."

"You're right, of course. It's just…" Matthew's emotions threatened to surface, and he took a deep breath before continuing. "However will we thank you, Violet? This is…this is…a stunning development. We never expected…"

"Matthew, I told you we Crawleys stick together, but I myself have done very little. The name 'Crawley' means something in our world, and as you see, causes others to rally around us when circumstances warrant. Now, Lady Lucy is waiting to hear when you and Mary are scheduled to return to London. She'll make her travel arrangements accordingly, and the scheme will be in place."

"Our appointment is on the ninth. We plan to depart Downton on the seventh. Will that work?"

"No doubt. I'll contact Lady Lucy immediately."

"Please thank her for this."

"Humph. You may do that yourself when you see her in Calais. She'll be the one smirking on the sidelines as those two are hauled away."

* * *

When he returned to the Abbey, Matthew charged into the grand hall and called repeatedly for Mary, his voice echoing through the space causing Carson and his minions to emerge in amazement from the corners of the house. Never had they seen him display such unbridled emotion; it was obvious something had caused him to forget himself and break the rules of decorum.

Mary had been resting upstairs when she heard the clamor and dashed from their bedroom when she realized Matthew was shouting her name.

 _She was a vision at the top of the stairs._

By the time she was halfway down, Matthew had rushed upward towards her, caught her in his arms, and carried her back up the staircase to their room. He was red-faced and grinning, so she knew the news was not dire, but that did not stop her from insisting that he put her down.

"What is it?" she cried as he bent over, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

He looked up at her, his blue eyes flashing with excitement. "You won't believe it," he panted. "Your grandmother…my God, Mary…your grandmother has located Flo and Maud and has orchestrated their arrest, and we're to be there to witness it." He was speaking so quickly, Mary could not quite believe her ears.

"Matthew! Slow down! They're going to be _arrested_? And Granny is behind it?"

"Yes!" He took her by the shoulders and kissed her hard. She responded by grabbing his upper arms and stepping back from him.

"Tell me everything! What does this mean?"

"It means, my darling, that those two soon will be punished for what they did to you…to us…and your grandmother had a hand in it. I'm confounded as to how she managed it, but manage it, she did." As they sat together on the chaise, Matthew proceeded to relate all that had transpired, and by the time he had finished, they both were laughing uncontrollably while wiping away tears.

"So, we're traveling to France again?"

"If you're up to it, Mary. I don't want to jeopardize…"

"If you think I'm going to miss this, you've got another think coming, Matthew."

"Yes, but…"

"No 'buts,' my love. Except for the ferry to Calais, traveling to France is no different from traveling to London, and you know we'll be making regular trips there until May. I'm going with you, and that's all there is to it."

He reached for her hand, tugging it over into his lap, enfolding it into his much-larger hands as he leaned close. He ducked his head down to her neck, and, his voice rumbling low along her throat, he murmured, "I love you, Mary."

Her hand went to his cheek, his day's growth of beard spiky against her hand. "I love you, too, so very much," she whispered. Just as his mouth covered hers, she pulled away from him, her hand moving to her belly. "That's odd," she whispered. Her brow contracted, and she looked at Matthew with a puzzled look on her face.

Matthew took her face in his hands and said, "What is it, my love? Is something wrong?"

"No, I don't think so. It's just that…there was the usual flutter…then I felt a kind of _push_ , for lack of a better word." She saw Matthew's concern and said quickly, "It wasn't painful…just different from what I've felt previously. I'm sure it's nothing."

Matthew rose from the chaise and went to his bedside table. "Now, where is that pamphlet?" he said to himself. "I know I put it here." He opened the drawer and rooted around until he found what he was looking for. "Aha! Here it is." He returned to the chaise and planted himself beside Mary.

"What's that?" she asked, still rubbing her swollen belly.

"It's one of the pamphlets Ryder's nurse gave us. It's a month-by-month description of symptoms—things common to pregnancy."

Mary raised a brow and snickered, "So, you've been trying to keep up with my many symptoms?"

Matthew blushed and said, "Since I only can go by what you tell me, darling, at least I might be able to determine whether what you're feeling is common to all pregnant women. Look, it says here that 'pushing or jumping sensations occur frequently. This quickening is bound to be rather disturbing to your body.'" He looked at her and said with a chuckle, "I'd say that seems rather an understatement."

Mary took the pamphlet, looked it over, and snorted, "Pregnancy is described here as a 'perfect nuisance.' Really, Matthew. My guess is this pamphlet was written by and for men. 'Perfect nuisance' indeed! I'd rather talk with your mother about my twinges than read this drivel. I'll visit with Anna in the next day or so. At least she'll be able to give me first-hand information." She handed him the pamphlet. "It's time to change for dinner, and I'm starving." She saw the concerned expression had not left his face, so she caressed his face said tenderly, "Don't worry, darling. I feel fine, truly. I'm sure the push I felt simply was your spawn exercising his or her muscles. I'm sure it won't be long until you'll be able to feel him or her moving about. Until then, you're just going to have to trust that all is well."

* * *

Mary and Matthew spent the next several days working together on estate business, visiting tenants, and sorting through the items they'd had shipped from France. Standing in front of a collection of paintings and _objets d'art_ that was piled in a small salon near their study, Matthew ran his hand through his hair and muttered, "I don't remember purchasing half of this, Mary. What in the world were we thinking?"

"Well, I suppose we were caught up in the beauty of it all and tried to bring back things that would remind us of the places we visited," replied Mary, holding a plate on which was painted a colorful village scene. Eleven of its mates sat in a straw-filled crate, along with cups, saucers, dainty bowls, and serving pieces. She smiled, remembering the wizened shopkeeper whose paint-stained fingers showed proof of her talents. She replaced the plate on its nest and reached down and picked up a delicate porcelain crab figurine. "Remember this?"

Matthew looked at the object and laughed. "Indeed I do. I'll never forget that little shop off the promenade in Beaulieu-sur-Mer. We barely could turn around inside because it was so full of merchandise. I remember thinking we should buy something quickly and get out of there before it all came crashing down upon us." He took the crab from her hand, set it on the table, and reached around her waist, pulling her to him. "I also remember a rather passionate tryst against a wall near the beach. You were breathtaking that day—exquisite in every way."

Her hand went quickly to his lips. "Shhhh, Matthew, don't make me blush."

He kissed her fingers and murmured into her ear, "But that blush is so intoxicating."

Her hands went to the nape of his neck as he pulled her close. Her body relaxed against his, and when his tongue taunted her lips asking for entry, they began to kiss feverishly. His right hand slipped into her hair; his left hand pressed into the small of her back, forcing her hips forward into his, her firm belly pushing into his torso. They melted together—

her smell…

his touch…

her taste…

his groans.

His hands moved to cover her breasts, and he could feel the hardened nipples on the palms of his hands. He knew her pregnancy had caused her breasts to become tender, so he kneaded the mounds gently, careful not to cause her discomfort. His passion intensified, and he glanced around the room, searching out the perfect spot for their tryst to continue.

 _The loveseat was small but serviceable…if all else failed, there was the floor…or the tabletop…or…_

"Matthew?"

"Mmmm?"

She tried to pull away. "We need to stop… _please_ …stop."

"Mmmm…why?"

"Because, my darling, Mama and Isobel will be here any moment…"

"What? _Why?"_

"They're coming to help me sort out the clothes that Coco sent."

" _Clothes?_ Why do you need help with clothes?"

"I don't need _help_ , Matthew. They want to see the frocks I ordered. Had I known you were going to get amorous…" She smiled when Matthew groaned, and her eyes sparkled mischievously. "I promise you, I'll make it up to you tonight." Just as she kissed him softly, the study door opened, and Isobel and Cora strode in.

"Well, Matthew, Mary, what do we have here?" asked Isobel looking around the room.

Matthew slowly moved behind Mary, hoping the state of his arousal would not be evident. Mary quickly brushed her hair away from her face and smoothed her clothing.

"Uh, hello, Mother. Nothing…I mean, we just were sorting through some of the…ah…things we brought back from France."

"These are lovely," remarked Cora, examining several small paintings that were stacked on a small sideboard. "The colors are so vibrant."

"Aren't they?" replied Mary, looking fondly at Matthew. "I'm afraid we quite lost control in the art markets. I don't know where we'll hang them all."

"This one might be perfect for the nursery," said Cora, holding a landscape that featured shimmering lavender fields. "It seems a shame, though, that it would be almost hidden away there."

"Actually, Cora, we're thinking of moving the nursery closer to our bedroom," said Matthew. He ran his hands down Mary's arms and kissed her cheek. "We don't like the thought of our child being so far away from us."

"Really?" replied Cora. "The nursery always has been on the floor above the family wing. I can't imagine why you'd move it. It's not as if you'll be caring for the baby yourselves."

"Actually, Mama, Matthew and I plan to…"

"I think that's a splendid idea," interjected Isobel. "Cora, modern childrearing experts encourage parents to be much more active in caring for their children." She turned to Mary and said, "Trust me, you'll be glad to have the child nearby, despite the lack of sleep at times. When Matthew was a baby…"

"That's quite enough, Mother. There's no need to bore Cora with stories of my childhood. Now, I understand you're here to inspect some new frocks?"

"Right," Mary said quickly. "Won't you come upstairs? I can't wait for you to see the pieces Coco has sent. They're simply yummy." She turned to Matthew, her eyes flashing, "Darling, I'll see you later to finish what we've started in here."

"I look forward to it," he replied. He stood frozen to the spot as Mary led Cora and Isobel from the room.

* * *

She was sitting on the edge of their bed waiting impatiently for him to finish his nightly ablutions, and when he finally entered their bedroom from the en suite, her breath caught when she espied the sash from his dressing gown in his hands. By the time he had pulled her to her feet and stripped her gown from her body, the gossamer filminess left on the floor, she was panting with need.

"You won't get away from me this time," he muttered as he wrapped the sash around her wrists and tied her hands to the top of the post. His kiss left her breathless. Her tethered hands grasped the bedpost as he slithered down her body, his tongue and lips and hands leaving trails of heat in their wake. The sounds that erupted from the back of his throat vibrated through her sex, and she closed her eyes, allowing her arousal to wash over her in a heat-filled torrent.

He was relentless.

She quaked as her release flowed outward from her center, leaving her knees weak and her head lolling.

He worked his way back up her body, stopping briefly to caress her ever-growing belly, and his eyes remained locked on hers as he entered her with a long, hard stroke. She moaned wantonly as she hung helplessly—Matthew's assault on her body setting off throes of desire that swirled and ignited became a delicious kind of torture. He brought one of her legs to his waist, and she tightened it around him as he pounded into her. They found their rhythm among deep thrusts and bucking hips, ferocious kisses and desire-laden breaths. Their urgency and fiery passion threatened to end them both.

Their lovemaking became a series of moans and thrusts and fervent cries, and as her body broke apart once more, she screamed his name. Her unraveling caused his, and he plunged into her one final time, emptying into her with a judder and shouting her name.

He held her with one arm while he untied her wrists. She collapsed into his arms, and he carried her to the bed and placed her gently on the silken sheets. He slipped into the bed, and she nestled into his side, her arm thrown across his heaving chest, one of her legs crooked between his. His deep sigh caused Mary to raise her head from his shoulder, and she asked, "What is it, my love? Are you all right?"

He smiled down at her. "Of course. It's just…I can't believe we get to do this on a regular basis."

She laughed softly and replied, "I just was thinking the same thing. It wasn't so long ago that I believed we'd never be together."

"I know. I'm thankful every day that the stars aligned and brought you back to me." He leaned over and kissed her gently. His hand went to her belly and his fingers moved lightly across it. "I didn't think it was possible, but I love you more and more each day."

As she settled back into his arms, the words of one of her favorite songs from years earlier came to mind—

 _Oh, my man I love him so—  
He'll never know.  
All my life is just despair  
But I don't care.  
When he takes me in his arms,  
The world is bright, alright._

 _What's the difference if I say  
I'll go away  
When I know, I'll come back  
On my knees someday.  
For whatever my man is,  
I am his forever more._


	46. Chapter 46

Velvet-blue eyes met chocolate-brown ones across the Napiers' dinner table as polite conversation flowed around the room. Bathed in the shimmering candlelight, Mary was alluring in her silver evening gown; her sartorial match, Matthew dominated the table, standing out among men similarly clad yet somehow drab in comparison. Together they were a breathtaking pair, their connection obvious to the other guests seated around the table.

The late-night gathering was held at the home of Evelyn and Priscilla Napier, one of London's most prominent couples. The invitation had arrived at the Abbey two weeks before Mary and Matthew were to travel to Calais by way of London, so they responded to the invitation with thanks, looking forward to a pleasant evening hosted by the fashionable couple. Mary had maintained a friendly relationship with the Napiers, who had settled in London two years after her self-imposed exile, and Matthew looked forward to renewing his acquaintance with his one-time rival.

Evelyn finally had accepted that Mary never would reciprocate his deep feelings for her and moved on to woo and eventually marry the Honorable Priscilla Pierce-Gordon, youngest daughter of one of London's most prominent businessmen. Their marriage was a happy one, thanks in part to Evelyn's easy-going nature and Priscilla's heartfelt devotion. Evelyn always had felt partly responsible for Mary's infamy since he had escorted that scoundrel Kemal Pamuk to Downton all those years ago. Although Mary had assured him the incident was not his fault, he carried a burdened heart and resolved to remain her steadfast friend despite society's initial negative reaction to her scandal. Through the years Evelyn watched admiringly as Mary rebuilt her reputation and marveled at her resilience as she rose to the top echelon of London society. He and Priscilla were unable to attend Mary and Matthew's wedding because of the imminent birth of their first child, and if Evelyn truly were honest with himself, it was just as well they had an excuse not to make the trip to Downton, for Mary still occupied a small corner of his heart and watching her marry someone whom he considered his biggest rival all those years ago undoubtedly would have stung, despite his contentment with his own marriage.

Seated next to Mary, Evelyn saw first-hand the interplay between her and Matthew and wondered at the subtle language the couple employed without saying a word:

 _She sipped her wine; he leaned towards her slightly._

 _He wiped his mouth on his linen napkin; she delicately licked her lips._

 _She took a bite of compote; he closed his eyes._

 _Her eyebrow lifted; his mouth twitched._

Evelyn marveled at their chemistry and knew, as much as he loved Priscilla, their passion never would match the intensity he was witness to. When Priscilla diverted Matthew's attention by asking whether he and Mary would continue the tradition of hosting a spring garden party, Evelyn turned to Mary and asked, "How long do you and Matthew plan to be in London?"

Mary wiped her mouth daintily and replied, "We're here at least for a week. I'm to see Doctor Ryder, and Matthew and I have some other business to attend to, as well." Although she was quite sure Evelyn knew of her troubles with Flo and Maud, she had no intention of telling him about her and Matthew's travel plans lest word leak from an innocent comment he might make to someone in passing.

"I've heard of your generosity in regards to the flood victims. That's quite an undertaking." He and Priscilla had escaped the floodwaters unscathed, but it wasn't until they had gotten word of the Grantham's largess that they made a large monetary contribution to the relief effort.

Mary took a sip of water and replied, "Perhaps, but it was the least we could do. The buildings we've turned over to the Red Cross were sitting empty and undergoing renovation anyway. It's a temporary solution, but we were glad to help."

"You're too modest, Mary. Your support has prompted others to do the same, including Priscilla and me. It's quite admirable."

"That's nice of you to say, Evelyn." Mary looked towards her husband and then back at Evelyn. "Matthew and I have so much to be thankful for."

As the dinner concluded, Priscilla gave a tacit signal, and Evelyn and the other men rose as the ladies made their way to the drawing room. Cigars in hand, the men remained at the dining table, and Matthew found himself sitting next to Ivor Novello, a songwriter-turned-actor with a classic profile that gained him matinee idol status amongst the film-going public. Although he and Mary had seen a few of his films, Matthew was not aware that the actor was considered the most popular male star in British films; however, he knew that Novello's swarthy good looks, effortless glamour, and genteel, albeit flirtatious, manner made him a popular dinner guest among London's elite. While living in London, Mary had met him a few times, and over the years she had watched as the actor ingratiated himself with the aristocracy. She had heard stories about his private life that implied he was not interested in pursuing anything other than platonic relationships with the women with whom he socialized, but because of her own shadowed past, she chose not to participate in idle gossip about him although she would not have been surprised to learn that his companion for the past twelve years was one Robert Anderson, a British stage actor and the love of Ivor's life. As she left the room, she smiled to herself when she saw him move to the seat next to Matthew's.

"So, Lord Grantham, I understand from Evelyn you recently were on the _Cote d'Azur_."

"Please, call me Matthew, and yes, my wife and I were there on honeymoon."

"Honeymoon? I never would have guessed you were newly married. The two of you seem so _sympatico_." He took a sip of brandy and stared at the double doors through which the ladies had just departed. "Lady Grantham is quite a beautiful woman. I met her a time or two in London, you know. You're a lucky man."

Matthew took a sip of brandy and replied, "I am, indeed." He watched as a slight shadow passed across Novello's face. He clipped the end of his cigar, lit it, and said, "I've seen a number of your films over the years, so I'm ashamed to admit I didn't recognize you when you arrived this evening."

Novello laughed. "I tend to be recognized more readily by my female fans. Think nothing of it."

"Mary and I saw _The Lodger_ recently and enjoyed it very much."

Novello bowed his head and smiled. "Thank you. Performing in films and on stage is stimulating, but I find myself longing to return to composition. Somehow creating entire musical plays seems much more appealing than merely performing before a camera although"—he leaned toward Matthew—"acting has provided me with the means to buy a country house in Littlewick Green, near Maidenhead. It allows me a certain amount of privacy that I just can't manage in London." What Novello left unsaid was _Redroofs_ was the site of what his adoring fans would consider scandalous activity. In fact, the group that frequented the house was known as "the Ivor/Noel naughty set"—a reference to his and Noel Coward's deep friendship—and included various artists, performers, and esthetes whose lifestyle was considered aberrant and thus deemed illegal.

The two men looked up as their host rose and announced, "Shall we join the ladies?"

Chairs scraped the floor, and the men stood and moved towards the double doors. Matthew and Ivor entered the drawing room together, drawing the admiring glances of the ladies whose conversations were halted by their appearance. Matthew immediately sought out Mary, and Ivor noticed how Matthew's eyes lit up when he espied her seated with Priscilla on one of the sofas.

The two men walked to the sofa and bowed to the ladies simultaneously, much to Mary and Priscilla's delight. "You two should be co-stars in a film," laughed Priscilla. "Your contrasting appearances—one dark, one light—would make you delightful foils."

"Alas, Lady Priscilla," said Matthew, "I'm afraid my lack of acting talent would make the film a complete flop."

"Nonsense," remarked Ivor. "You'd need only to flash a smile, and you'd have the audience falling at your feet. Right, ladies?"

Matthew blushed and laughed as Mary stood, took his arm, and said lightheartedly, "Never mind, darling. I have no intention of sharing you with the film-going public."

"Quite right," replied Matthew, trapping Mary's hand against his side with his arm. "Besides, my love, the only person I want falling at my feet is you."

Both Priscilla and Ivor sighed audibly.

* * *

The rocking of the train to Dover was soothing, and Matthew rested his head against the smooth leather seat. He looked over at Mary, who sat quietly beside him, her eyes seemingly focused on the passing landscape. It would be mid-afternoon by the time they disembarked from the Dover ferry and reached the _Hôtel Meurice de Calais_ , and Matthew worried that the trip plus the anticipation of the next day's confrontation with Flo and Maud might have an adverse effect on her health, despite Doctor Ryder's assurance that her pregnancy was progressing normally.

 _Their appointment with Doctor Ryder had gone well. He was pleased that Mary's weight and overall heath were within acceptable norms, and he allowed both of them to hear their baby's strong heartbeat once again, giving them further cause for optimism._

" _Are you still feeling the fluttering?" he asked as Mary sat up on the examination table and straightened her garments._

" _Yes, and I wanted to ask—lately I've felt a kind of 'pushing,' as well. Is that normal? It doesn't hurt at all, it's just odd…"_

" _That's perfectly normal, Lady Grantham. In fact, I'd say it won't be long before Lord Grantham here will be able to feel the movements, as well. The child is stretching, testing the confines of his or her environment, so to speak. My patients tell me they're convinced they're going to give birth to football players or boxing champions." He smiled benignly. "As much as I know about the stages of pregnancy, that is one sensation I'll never experience, much to my regret."_

 _Matthew grinned. Feeling the baby move was something he had been looking forward to for quite some time._

 _Mary stepped down from the table and remarked, "Well, the baby already appears to respond to Matthew's voice. I must say it's rather disconcerting to awaken to Matthew's lullabies being directed towards my midsection in the early morning hours. It always seems to provoke some kind of response from the baby." Mary laughed the first few times she was awakened by his "baby talk," but soon she found herself moved by the notion that her husband was enamored with their child._

" _That's no surprise," said the doctor. "There's no reason to think a child in utero can't hear noises outside the womb."_

" _See, darling? I told you my conversations with him or her weren't odd." Matthew was slightly embarrassed by Mary's disclosure of his morning activities; nevertheless, he felt vindicated._

 _Doctor Ryder laughed. "Well, Lord Grantham, I cannot say that kind of activity isn't odd, but I suppose it can't hurt."_

As the train continued to clatter and hum towards its destination, Matthew recalled his previous-day's telephone conversation with Albert Sarraut, France's Minister of the Interior, who assured him that three officers of the national judicial police would escort Mary and him to the ferry terminal in Calais in time for Flo and Maud's arrival.

" _Your Violette is a very persuasive woman," remarked the Minister. "It's been years since I've seen her, but she sounds as formidable as ever." Despite the crackling over the line, the man's admiration of Violet came through loud and clear._

" _Yes," replied Matthew, "I'm learning to appreciate her more and more. Tell me, how is it she has access to a French minister?"_

 _Sarraut chuckled. "Would you be surprised to know 'Le Tigre' had a hand in this?"_

" _Clemenceau? How?" Violet and a radical Frenchman? It was too much for Matthew to contemplate._

" _When he telephoned me, all he would say is a mutual friend of ours needed a favor. Needless to say, when he said her name, I was surprised. I met her in the late seventies when she and Lord Grantham occasionally traveled to Paris, but I gather from Georges they became acquainted before then."_

" _Well, whatever their connection, I'm grateful for it, and I cannot thank you enough for your assistance."_

" _Lord Grantham, believe me, it is my pleasure. When I received word of Lady Grantham's assault at the hands of those two women, I was hopeful we'd get a break in the case. Imagine my surprise when it was Violette who provided it. We do not take attempted murder lightly in this country, so I'm delighted to be of service."_

 _Matthew was shocked to hear the Minister use the term "attempted murder." He assumed the women might be charged with assault, so the more serious charge came as a surprise._

 _Minister Sarraut continued, "I suspect you're startled at the charge. To be honest, they'll more than likely be charged with assault; however, I think a little exaggerated terminology is warranted, n'est-ce pas? If nothing else, it should provoke an interesting reaction in the perpetrators."_

* * *

After a sumptuous dinner in their hotel suite, Matthew and Mary prepared for bed, both of them experiencing a kind of nervous anticipation about the next day's events. For Matthew, finally confronting Flo and Maud was something he'd desired since that dreadful afternoon he rushed Mary to the hospital in Antibes all those weeks ago. He couldn't wait to see the looks on their faces when the ruse to get them to France finally was revealed. Their attack on Mary rocked him to his core, and seeing them brought to justice was something he looked forward to with relish. There was trepidation, though. Suppose they got wind of the plan? Suppose they changed their minds about traveling to France? Suppose they missed the ferry? His mind was whirling with anxiety and expectancy.

Mary, too, was anxious about seeing the two women again but not for the same reasons. She knew the intensity of Matthew's desire for retribution. Of course, she wanted justice, too—not only for herself but also for her child and her husband—but she feared seeing the two women again would bring back the despair, the pain, the anger that she had managed to quell since the assault. She and Matthew had settled in to such comfort, such peace, and she didn't want anything to disturb that. Seeing Flo and Maud again could very well send both her and Matthew back into the abyss from which they had pulled themselves.

Mary climbed into the bed and sat cross-legged next to Matthew's prone body. He turned onto his side and rested his head in his hand. He looked at her quizzically as she rearranged her gown over her crisscrossed legs.

"What is it, love?" he asked as she took his hand in hers.

"I…I don't know, Matthew. I feel anxious about tomorrow, I suppose. Somehow, having to face them again…" She looked away from him, her attention seemingly drawn away by the pattern on the duvet.

Matthew sat up and took both of her hands in his. "I know, Mary, but we have the element of surprise on our side, and once they're in custody we'll both be able to breathe easier."

The warmth of Matthew's hands seemed to quell her apprehension, and she straightened her shoulders and asked, "When you spoke with the Minister this evening, did he say whether we'll be able to speak with them?"

"Are you sure you still want to?"

Mary set her jaw and looked at him intently. "Yes. Absolutely. Don't you want to?"

"I do. It's something I've imagined for quite some time."

"Well, then, that's just what we'll do."

Mary's mind went back to that dreadful luncheon and the aspersions Flo cast on her marriage. She had implied that Mary had the title of Countess in her sights when she married Matthew and that she was the cause of the dissolution of Matthew and Lavinia's marriage. In her heart she knew none of that was true, but she remembered the anger and indignation she felt at the time. She also remembered how Flo practically flung herself at Matthew, starting with their initial meeting on the train to the Riviera. Knowing Flo wanted her out of the way so she could go after Matthew made Mary seethe at the memory.

 _Oh, yes, I want a chance to speak with her._

 _I want a chance to tell her just how wrong she was._

 _I want her to pay for the pain and anguish she put Matthew and me through._

 _I want her to see how strong we are._

"Mary? Are you all right?"

Mary shook herself out of her reverie and looked at Matthew. "Of course. I'm fine, darling. I'm just thinking how glad I'll be to put all of this behind us."

Matthew moved up in the bed and sat with his back against the headboard. He pulled Mary into his arms. "God, Mary, I will, too. I mean, how often have we imagined Flo and Maud being hauled away to face justice? That vision now is within our grasp, and I couldn't be more relieved."

She squeezed him gently and said, "I had to laugh when Granny said tonight she wished she could be here to watch the spectacle. It's good to know Lady Lucy told her all is in readiness."

"We owe your grandmother and Lady Lucy a great deal, Mary. I don't know how we'll ever repay them."

"I can't speak for Lady Lucy, but I'm sure Granny expects nothing more than a blow-by-blow description."

She pulled away, hovered in front of him, and smiled as he took her face in his hands. He pushed her hair away from her face and grazed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. His hands then traveled along her neck, moved downward to brush against the fullness of her satin-covered breasts, and settled on her belly. A gentle smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"It seems we're going to have to be creative from now on," he chuckled softly.

"I'm counting on it," she replied, covering his hands with her own.

"It's remarkable, amazing really, how your body has changed with this pregnancy."

"I'll be as big as a whale before long," she said, moving her hands across her belly.

"Don't say that, Mary. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Oh, Matthew, don't be ridiculous."

"I'm serious, my darling. You've never been more beautiful—or more appealing."

"Now, I'm sure you've lost your mind." She grinned in spite of herself.

"You don't believe me? I'll prove it to you."

His lips brushed against hers—once—and as she wound her fingers in his hair, they poured themselves into a kiss that gradually moved from tender to urgent.

Suddenly, she was straddling him, his narrow hips embraced by the softness of her thighs. Her hands rested on his broad shoulders, as his own hands rested on her hips. With shuddering breaths, they stared transfixed, intense brown eyes swimming in bottomless depths of blue. Grasping the hem of her nightgown, he raised it off her body. The darkened skin around her nipples called to him, and he ran one finger around each of her sensitive areolae.

"So beautiful."

She pulled his pyjama shirt over his head, and he sighed as her warm hands moved over his shoulders. They came together in another passionate kiss, and he felt her hands clutch and press against his chest before they rose and tangled themselves in the silken strands of his hair. Her eager, anxious, honeyed breaths wafted over him, and, Matthew groaned softly into her mouth. He shifted her so that she was lying beneath him, and he quickly shed his pyjama pants, his body trembling in anticipation.

"So beautiful."

He slid his hands under her arms and shoulders, rested his weight on either side of her, and gazed into her eyes, seeing the desire, knowing it matched his own. Without taking his eyes off her, he drove into her…slowly and smoothly, deeply and deliciously...his passion increasing with every stroke. She gasped, her breaths echoing his, ecstasy tearing through every molecule of her body.

He quickly shifted so that he was on his knees, and he pulled her up so that she was sitting on him, his hands splayed across her lower back as he held her securely, allowing her to lean away from him, rocking his hips deeply into her, feeling her begin to pulse, reveling in the way she fueled his desire. With her arms extended, she grasped the back of his neck, and her head fell back as she rocked and quaked and cried out his name, her release consuming her.

His blood was on fire as it surged through his veins, and he roared as his desire for her increased. His fingers burned into her skin, and she writhed and keened in response to his ardor. The intensity was so great he was lost in the euphoria that whirled and surged inside him. He felt as if he were being consumed by liquid heat—burning, melting, bursting—and he shuddered with one long shout as he released. He held her in a tight embrace, feeling her tremble, never wanting to let her go.

* * *

The officers escorted Matthew and Mary into a stuffy anteroom inside the ferry terminal where they were to wait until the ferry's passengers disembarked and the two women were taken into custody. The room's door had a small, smoke-stained window through which they could see the ramp leading from the dock into the terminal. They stood quietly, Matthew's arm firmly around Mary's waist, the both of them tense and lost in thought as they waited for the two women to emerge from the sunlight into the building's dank darkness. They saw the officers standing and talking casually beside one of the massive posts that held up the roof, seemingly unconcerned about their assignment, but Matthew noticed their furtive glances directed towards the ramp.

The plan was simple. The officers would intercept the two women as they entered the terminal, strong hands grasping flaccid arms, and escort them into the anteroom where they would come face-to-face with the couple whose lives they almost destroyed. The men knew a little of the backstory and thought Lord and Lady Grantham were admirably composed, considering the situation. They were pleased to be included in the upcoming scenario, for it wasn't often they were afforded the opportunity to observe retribution in action. They had their orders. They were not to leave the room lest tempers flared. Once the confrontation was over, they were to place Lady Robelard and Lady Raines under arrest and take them directly to the magistrate who was awaiting their arrival.

The blast of the ferry's horn and subsequent announcement of its arrival caused the men to straighten their stances.

It was time.

The air inside the anteroom crackled with anticipation.

Mary felt Matthew's hand tighten on her waist and her breathing became shallow.

As the ferry's passengers began filing into the terminal, the officers' eyes began searching for their quarry. They'd been given a photograph of Lady Lucy Harris, the woman who lured the two women to France in the guise of needing traveling companions, so it simply was a matter of identifying her and separating her from the other two. They didn't have to wait long. There was no mistaking the trio. On either side of Lady Lucy were an over-made blonde and a rather nondescript brunette, both of whom looked slightly apprehensive.

Maud had balked when Flo accepted Lady Lucy's invitation to travel to France although considering she and Flo were living hand to mouth, she had little choice but to go along. The whole poisoning ploy had turned into a fiasco of epic proportions—they had barely escaped France afterwards, and it wasn't long before she learned that her husband had divorced her and left her penniless. She had considered turning herself in, but Flo's admonition that neither of them was strong enough to endure a prison sentence soon quashed that idea. Instead, they pawned jewelry and found themselves in Switzerland. Flo had attempted to contact a few former paramours, only to be told in no uncertain terms that help was unavailable. Word of their heinous action had spread among their acquaintances, and until Lady Lucy had contacted them in Bern, they were isolated, living in a small flat on the outskirts of the city. Because they had kept a low profile, neither of them knew how Lady Lucy learned of their whereabouts, but her offer of sanctuary in her home in Faversham was too tempting to resist. Maud was resentful that Flo never expressed any remorse for assailing Lady Grantham. She felt Flo's attraction to him would come to no good, and she was proved right. Her friend's overactive libido had led to some despicable acts through the years but nothing as dreadful as the poisoning of Lady Grantham. The moment Maud saw Lady Grantham's pallid form writhing in pain in Flo's guest bedroom, she knew they were in trouble, and Lord Grantham's reaction convinced her that escaping France should be their first order of business.

When the ferry docked in Calais, Flo felt a sense of smug satisfaction. She admitted to herself that she had erred when she set her cap for the handsome Lord Grantham, but there were other fish in the sea and she was sure she would be back on her game in no time now that she was in familiar territory. Lady Lucy's invitation to Faversham and her insistence that she and Maud accompany her to France could not have come at a better time. For one thing, she was destitute. When she tried to access her accounts in England, she was dismayed to discover they had been closed by order of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and she found she was powerless to contest the order in the wake of the Chancellor's influence. Lady Lucy's standing no doubt would open doors for her. All it would take is an introduction to a man of means, and her feminine wiles would do the rest. Stepping onto French soil meant a new start, and she was eager to begin.

Mary gripped Matthew's hand as they watched an indignant Flo and a terrified Maud being escorted towards the anteroom, their arms firmly in the grasp of two of the officers. The couple stepped away from the door and moved to the opposite side of the room, holding their breaths as it creaked open.

"Dear God," moaned Maud, her knees weak when she recognized who was awaiting her in the room. She looked frantically at Flo, who stood transfixed, momentarily stunned when she became aware of who was standing before her.

Finally, Flo gathered herself, looked pointedly at Matthew, and said imperiously, "Lord Grantham. What's the meaning of this?" Her gaze then moved to Mary, whose pale face belied her anger. "Lady Grantham, you're looking…ah…well. What a coincidence to find you here."

"It's no coincidence, Lady Robelard," Matthew said tersely. "You're here because of your callous attack on my wife. We wanted the opportunity to face you before you and your cohort were taken into custody."

"Oh, my God," whispered Maud, who would have collapsed had an officer not been holding her firmly by her arms. "Flo, I told you…"

"Shut up, Maud. They're posturing." She turned towards the officers and said indignantly, "There's no reason for this kind of treatment. I demand to know…"

Mary stepped forward and said in a voice that rang strong and true, "Lady Robelard, I can assure you there's every reason for you to be treated thusly. Your scheme to insinuate yourself into our lives nearly cost me my life and may still cost us the life of our child." Her hands moved protectively to her belly. "Your callous disregard of all the tenets of society tells me all I need to know about you." She cleared her throat and continued, "You most assuredly will pay for what you've done—both in this life and in the next—and we _never_ will forgive what you tried to do. I'm sure you believe you'll be able to wangle your way out of this, but trust me, the law and the courts—all of society, for that matter—will ensure you pay dearly for your actions." Her eyes flashed. "You wanted my husband and were willing to stop at nothing to have your way with him. You never stood a chance, and…"

"Are you so sure, Lady Grantham? He is _just_ a man after all." Flo stared at Mary haughtily. "You can't possibly know how he would have responded…"

"Enough!" shouted Matthew. Everyone in the room jumped at his outburst. Mary never had seen him so angry. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he tried to quell his rage. "Lady Robelard, you're delusional if you think for one moment that your pathetic wiles would have any effect on me." Mary took his hand in hers, and he immediately felt his rage cool. He continued in a voice modulated yet knife-sharp. "You're beyond contemptible. I find you loathsome and not fit to breathe the same air as my wife. If I had my way, you'd be locked away for the remainder of your life, but I assure you, you'll never have the opportunity to prey on anyone else after today." He looked at Maud's trembling form and added, "As for you, you're as guilty as she, as far as I'm concerned, and I pray you'll suffer at least as much as we have as a result of your friendship with this woman."

By the time Matthew finished his tirade, both women were ashen, having realized the seriousness of their situation. The officers read statements charging them with attempted murder and proceeded to escort them from the room. Matthew and Mary watched anxiously as the two women attempted in vain to resist their captors, and when the door closed after them, they turned to each other in relief. Before they could say anything, the door opened once again, and Lady Lucy entered the room.

"My dears," she said amiably, "I'm Lucy Harris. May I say what a delight it is to meet you. Violet has told me so much about you both, and I must say helping you has been a great pleasure."

Matthew and Mary saw the sincerity on the elderly woman's face and smiled in response to her kindness.

Matthew stepped forward and kissed her hand. "Lady Lucy, we will never be able to thank you enough for your help. Cousin Violet told us you were a woman of great character, and you've certainly affirmed that. Taking those two in couldn't have been easy."

"Oh, it wasn't as difficult as you might imagine. Those two were so intent on clawing their way into my good graces, they never thought my invitation was a ruse. Silly hens!" She turned to Mary and said softly, "I so admire your resilience, my dear. I hope you'll be able to put this dreadful experience behind you."

"Thank you, Lady Lucy," replied Mary, her eyes filling with tears. "Thanks to you, I think I'll be able to. If there's ever anything we can do for you…"

"Just be happy. And send me an announcement of the birth. I have a vested interest in his well-being." Her hands fluttered in the air. "Now, I must be off, or I'll miss my train."

"Oh? You're not returning to Faversham?" inquired Matthew.

"No, no. As long as I'm in France, I might as well take advantage of it. George, as usual, is awash in Marylebone Cricket Club business, so I'm off to Paris for a few weeks. Some dear friends and I plan to reconnect. Are you returning to London today?"

"Actually, we'll take the ferry back to Dover and spend the night there. I want Mary to rest and breaking up the trip home seems to be the thing to do."

"Very well. It was lovely putting faces to names. Safe travels to you, and please give my best to Violet. It's been ages since I've seen her."

"We certainly will, Lady Lucy. And thank you again—for everything." Mary kissed her cheek and felt the smile on Lucy's face.

After they were alone in the room once again, Matthew pulled Mary into his arms. As their bodies pressed together, Matthew suddenly grabbed Mary's arms and pushed her backwards. "What in the world was that?!" he exclaimed.

Mary beamed and said, "If I'm not mistaken, I believe it was our little cricketer making himself known. Or I suppose it could be our ballerina…"

Mary laughed at the look of stunned amazement on Matthew's face. His hands went to her belly, and she covered them gently with her own.


	47. Chapter 47

_**Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to leave a review. Your kind words mean so much to me.**_

* * *

Victoria Mountbatten, Marchioness of Milford Haven, formerly Princess Victoria of Hesse and by Rhine, was the granddaughter of Queen Victoria and the central matriarchal figure in the lives of Europe's royalty. Known for her outspokenness and open-mindedness, she possessed an odd mix of egalitarian views intermingled with an abiding sense of her rank and privilege. In her youth she had a rather adventurous streak, having flown in a Zeppelin airship as well as in an early bi-plane, and at sixty-four, she still was vivacious and sharp-witted. Thanks to her cousin George V, upon her widowhood Victoria moved into a grace-and-favour residence at Kensington Palace where she doted on her visiting grandchildren and frequently could be found scribbling into leather-bound volumes in which she kept meticulous records of books and articles she had read.

She sat in the sunny morning room reading an article in the _Times_ about the flood-relief efforts, and her interest was aroused when she read that Lord and Lady Grantham had donated buildings to be used as temporary housing for the displaced flood victims. The name "Grantham" rang a bell, and after a moment she remembered that during a recent visit, David and Mrs. Dudley Ward had mentioned the couple, telling her that Lady Grantham had been poisoned in the south of France during her honeymoon and that her rapid recovery surprised everyone who had heard of the incident. The Marchioness wondered at the woman's resilience and decided she wanted to meet Lady Grantham and determine her fortitude for herself.

Determining their whereabouts was easy enough. She telephoned George Dawson, the _Times_ editor, who provided an address.

"I wonder at your interest in this couple," Dawson remarked. "Surely you know of her. The former Lady Mary Crawley? Terrible business about her assault on the _Cote_."

"I didn't realize she and Lady Grantham were one and the same. I understand the attack was unprovoked, and she was quite ill. David and…um…David speaks very highly of her," replied the Marchioness. "I know nothing of Lord Grantham, however."

"She's always been rather enigmatic—keeps friends close to the vest, so to speak, although I understand she's greatly admired by your sort. He, on the other hand, has been ensconced in Yorkshire for years." Dawson's voice lowered conspiratorially. "Not much is known about him other than this is his second marriage. He inherited his title thanks to the death of her father. They're distant cousins."

"Curiouser and curiouser. My interest most certainly is piqued." She resolved to meet the philanthropic couple. Strength of character was the thing she most admired in women, and Lady Grantham seemed to possess it in spades. David always had been something of a rogue and a gossip, so for him to express admiration for this woman seemed to be evidence of her worthiness.

"Oh, you'll be interested in this tidbit. It seems the Ladies Robelard and Raines, the perpetrators of the attack on Lady Grantham, have been arrested in France. My sources tell me they're facing a long imprisonment. Their returning to France was quite foolhardy. Details are starting to trickle in, and rumor has it that they were lured there."

"No doubt those details would make quite a lurid story, which I hope you'll leave to your competitors such as that odious Carlisle. The _Times_ has a reputation to maintain, after all." Although she was an avid reader of newspapers such as the _Times_ and the _Telegraph_ , she drew the line at reading "rags" that fomented scandal.

Dawson chuckled, "Our journalistic integrity won't be jeopardized, my dear lady, but that won't keep the details from becoming public knowledge."

The Marchioness ended the call with a final admonishment to Dawson about editorial uprightness and went to her writing desk, retrieved a piece of formal stationery, and sat to compose a note addressed to a most interesting couple who resided at Painswick House.

* * *

Mary entered the study, her arms filled with a dazzling array of flowers recently delivered from a local London florist. She looked every bit the English maiden coming in from the fields, intent on decorating a manor house, and her smile was as broad as her face as she strode across the floor towards her husband.

Matthew looked up from a mind-numbing document and smiled at the vision approaching him. "What have you got there?" he asked, his gravelly voice reflecting the sudden warmth he felt surging in him.

"You know perfectly well, darling," Mary replied laughingly. "Obviously some scoundrel is trying to woo me away from you, and judging from the magnificence of this bouquet, he's very likely to experience some success."

"Is that right?" Matthew stood and pushed aside the blossoms to plant a kiss on her cheek. "I suppose, then, I'll have to be especially vigilant."

Mary returned his kiss. "Thank you, darling. These are breathtaking. Whatever possessed you?"

"Well, after Calais I thought you deserved some special attention. I tried to have flowers delivered in Dover that evening but failed miserably."

Mary laughed, saying, "You more than made up for that failing, Matthew. That night reminded me of the first night of our honeymoon." She blushed at the memory as she placed the flowers on the desktop. Wrapping her arms around Matthew's neck, she pressed her body snugly against his and kissed him, his warm hands resting on either side of her belly.

They had returned to London the previous afternoon, spent yet exhilarated from the trip to Calais. Watching Flo and Maud being led away in shackles had filled them with such a sense of relief they hardly knew what to do with themselves. Then the baby stirred, as if he or she were fully aware of their joy, and the couple's liberation from the ugliness that had plagued them truly was complete. They planned to spend four days in London to attend to some business—Matthew had committee meetings at the Lords and Mary and Sarah had arranged to tour the buildings being readied for the flood victims—and then return to Downton to spend a final month there before returning to London to prepare for the birth.

Mary broke the embrace and gathered the flowers into her arms. "I need to get these into water before they wilt. I've already sent Gleason on a mission to find vases since I'm certain one won't hold all of these." She buried her nose in the blooms as Matthew returned to his desk. As Mary was preparing to leave the room, Gleason entered holding a vase in one hand and an envelope in the other.

"Excuse me, my lord. You and Lady Grantham have received a royal missive."

"What?" exclaimed Matthew, coming to his feet once again as Gleason handed the letter to Mary. He stood at her shoulder as Mary opened the envelope. They read the note and looked at each other in amazement.

"Oh, my! It seems the Marchioness of Milford Haven requests presence of our company at Kensington Palace tomorrow afternoon," said Mary, grasping the stiff white card in her hand.

"Whatever for?" asked Matthew.

"I've no idea," replied Mary, "but we have no recourse but to go."

"She didn't give us much notice," remarked Matthew, his voice tinged with a trace of aggravation.

"She doesn't have to," was Mary's terse reply.

"I assume you want to go," Matthew said wryly.

Mary looked at him, her eyes wide. "Of course, I do. Don't you?"

Before Matthew could respond, Gleason entered the room. "Pardon me, my lord, but the courier is awaiting a response."

"Send him in, please," remarked Matthew. He turned to Mary and said, "You'll have to fill me in. Just who is she?"

"She's the king's first cousin. Their parents were siblings." Mary looked at the note once again, not quite believing her eyes. Although she had socialized with the Prince of Wales, her experience with royalty was limited. She was aware, however, that Victoria Mountbatten was held in high regard and wielded a great deal of influence among London's aristocracy.

"You mean her grandmother was Queen Victoria?" asked Matthew.

"Exactly."

The courier stepped into the room, and Mary looked at Matthew, who nodded quickly, his eyes fixed on hers. She turned to the messenger and addressed him quietly. "Please present our compliments to the Marchioness. It is our honor to accept her kind invitation to Kensington Palace tomorrow afternoon."

* * *

Doctor Ryder had encouraged Mary to take exercise daily, and Matthew was determined to ensure that she did, so late that afternoon, they strolled around the square, taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather. The last few days had been spent on trains, on ferries, and in motors, so being able to stretch muscles tired from disuse was a relief for them both. As they walked along, they noticed how many people were enjoying the park—some were lying about on blankets, others were engaged in a spirited cricket match on a makeshift pitch, still others pushed strollers or chased after children—all of them relishing the outdoors. Feeling Mary's arm linked through his provided Matthew with a myriad of feelings. He bristled a little when he saw how she attracted admiring glances from young men perched on fence rails but felt a great deal of pride when he realized she only had eyes for him. Squiring her around always made him smile at his good fortune.

They stopped for a moment to laugh at the antics of three small boys, obviously brothers, kicking a ball about, their cheeks red from exertion, and Matthew said quietly, "You know, I always wished I had brothers to play with."

Surprised at his pronouncement, she looked at him and said, "Really, Matthew? You never said. Is that why you've mentioned 'a house full of children' more than once?" She squeezed his arm and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

He smiled wistfully. "I suppose. Honestly, I don't think about it too often, but seeing these little chaps reminds me of my childhood. As much as I adored my parents, it would have been nice to have a brother to play with…." He grinned and looked at her, adding, "Or even a sister."

"Oh, I don't know, Matthew. There were many times when I gladly would have traded Edith for a puppy."

"What about Sybil? Would you have traded her, too?"

"Never! Darling Sybil was much younger than I, so I tended to enjoy watching over her. We didn't play together much." She took a deep breath and sighed. "Trust me, darling. Sometimes, siblings aren't all they're cracked up to be."

"Nevertheless, I'm hopeful we can give this little one a chance to experience the ups and downs of having a sibling." He saw Mary's face drop slightly and quickly added, "But if that's not to be, at least he or she will have cousins to play with. I didn't even have that."

Mary looked away, her eyes focused on the scene before them. "I know you'll be disappointed if…"

"Oh, Mary, don't think of that! You _know_ how much I love you. You _know_ there's nothing you could do to disappoint me." His hand went to her belly briefly. "This child is a miracle, and one miracle in a lifetime is enough for me."

"But what if…"

"Mary! Stop it! You heard Dr. Ryder. All is progressing normally. We promised to focus on the positive, and that's just what we'll do. This child _will_ be healthy…and loved…and embody the best of us."

Mary caressed his cheek. "You're right, of course. I don't know how you manage to put up with me."

"It's not a matter of 'putting up with you,' my darling. I _love_ you. I'm here for you, just as you're here for me." He swept away a tear from her cheek. "Now, I don't know about you, but I could use a cup of tea." His eyes scanned the western sky where clouds had begun to gather. "And it looks as if we might be in for a blow." As they made their way back to the house, the wind shifted and the temperature dropped. Matthew felt Mary begin to shiver, so he removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders as they walked briskly. When they entered Painswick House, the warmth enveloped them, and they stood in the entry wrapped together.

Mary kissed Matthew gently and said, "I'm going upstairs to change. Will you call for tea?"

"Of course. Are you all right?" The concern in his voice was reflected in his eyes.

"Yes. I'm fine. I'll only be a minute." The wind had played havoc with Matthew's hair, so Mary reached up and smoothed back the flaxen, tousled locks that had fallen onto his forehead. "There," she said softly, "that's better."

When Mary reached their room, she stripped down to her undergarments and stood before the full-length mirror, examining herself in a side view. A sudden movement startled her, and she looked down at her protruding belly. "Please be all right," she whispered as her hands gravitated to the source of the sensation. "Your papa and I love you so very much."

* * *

Matthew awoke with a start when he heard the reverberating clouds break open, and he immediately reached for Mary, knowing her aversion to storms. Beside him, she fidgeted in her dreams, the corner of her mouth turning up into a half smile before a crack of thunder caused a grimace to take its place. Her sleep had been fitful; she dozed off and then jolted awake in what seemed to be a never-ending cycle. Matthew whispered along her jaw and neck as the storm tried to claw its way inside the house. While the gale pounded against the glass and tested the windows' strength, Mary rolled over and moved towards him, pulling his face to hers, her hands and mouth needy. The wind huffed through the gaps around the pane, yowling and snarling as its fury raged, and ominous flashes of light sought entrance into the room through heavy fabric. Matthew cradled the back of Mary's head in his palm while his other hand adhered to her breast. He loved the way her breath hitched when he took her nipple in his mouth, the way her fingers snaked through his hair as he feasted on her creamy skin, the way she moaned and moved as his hands played upon her body. She smelled and tasted of vanilla and jasmine—a heady combination that fomented his desire. Her hands clutched his shoulders as her hips undulated against him. Breathing vapor against the bricks, the storm exhaled beads of moisture along the edges of the glass. She rolled again, her back to his front, and reached back, took him in her hand, and guided him into her. Her warmth enclosed him, and his body curved and molded around her. Tucking all of herself against him, she melted as his hands traced their way across her breasts and down her belly, finally settling on her hips, holding her in place. He rolled his hips in time with the storm's rhythm and lost himself in her—holding her tighter, closer, pressing into her. Infuriated, the sky heaved sheets of rain over the house, but the house stood steadfast, stalwart against the onslaught.

The lovers' moans were harmonious yet discordant, their movements fluid yet erratic, their hunger replete yet unsatisfied. Climbing…climbing…climbing, they crashed together in a cacophony of shudders and cries and spasms, the throes of their releases matching the intensity of the gale that surged around the great house until, finally, they settled against each other, their bodies drenched and sated and spent.

The tempest dissipated and moved on.

* * *

The morning after the storm portended one of those sunshine blue days when everything was sublime. Streaks of blue and aqua that were painting the sky started to give way to a soft pink and orange haze, and all that remained of the previous evening's storm were shimmering puddles of water and a few downed tree branches in the streets.

Mary awoke to find Matthew rubbing her belly gently and encouraging the child within to make himself or herself known. He tapped his fingers lightly and whispered, "Just one little kick, that's all I'm asking."

Mary's silent laugh at her husband's efforts to rouse their child caused her belly to rise and fall, and Matthew gave her a chagrinned look. "Ah, you caught me. I'm so sorry, Mary. Did I wake you?"

"Well, perhaps, but I have to say it's not an unpleasant way to awaken, all things considered. Exactly what were you trying to do?"

"I just wanted to feel him kick. It truly is the most remarkable feeling."

"I'm well aware of that, Matthew," laughed Mary.

"I know, but my God, Mary, there's a little person in there— _our_ little person. You'd think he'd want to make his presence known."

" _She_ might just want to sleep undisturbed like her mama. Did you ever think of _that_?"

"It's possible, I suppose, but I just can't resist…"

As if on cue, the child did indeed make his or her presence known by administering a kick directly to Matthew's jaw, which was resting on Mary's belly.

"Now, are you satisfied? She doesn't like to be awakened abruptly any more than I."

"Or, he may be thanking me for encouraging him to start his calisthenics early."

After placing a kiss on the spot of the kick, he cocked an eyebrow and crawled up her body, his crooked smile and hooded eyes revealing his intent. His hand ghosted across her breasts, and she sighed and stayed silent as his lips found the soft hollow between her shoulders and her neck. He carefully lifted her leg and slid into her slowly, his low moan matching hers in tenor. Her fingers gripped the sheets that pooled around them as he moved deeply inside her, careful to shift his weight away from her belly. "Is this good?" he murmured, his voice deep and sensuous. "Do you want this? Tell me."

"Yes, Matthew. Oh, _please_ , don't stop," she keened. She felt as if she were melting into him, the wetness between them and his languid pace sending her soaring, sky-high, deliciously euphoric.

Her eyes were open when his lips met hers, and in a moment they were all tongue and lips and teeth—ravenous, voracious, famished—and her face contorted into a silent scream. His arms tangled around her hips and pulled her close until he barely was able to move. He finished with one long, guttural sigh, his hips rocking, his heart hammering. They lay completely still for several minutes bathed in the afterglow, savoring the perfection of the moment, each lost in the eyes of the other.

* * *

When they arrived at Kensington Palace, Matthew and Mary were escorted through the King's staircase into what appeared to be a small reception room attached to a sumptuous apartment. The walls were filled with murals and fine art, and despite living in what might be considered lavish splendor themselves, they nearly were overwhelmed by their surroundings. Everything spoke of _royalty_ , from the pristine, oatmeal-colored carpet into which their feet sank to the seventeenth-century tapestry that shimmered on the wall, its colors still vibrant and rich. Despite its obvious age, the furniture was pristine: curved chair arms were unscarred, burled tabletops were unmarked, gold-leafed mirrors were polished, silk upholstery was unlined. They felt as if they were standing in a vacuum of opulence. They couldn't bring themselves to sit. Or speak.

As they waited for the Marchioness to appear, their eyes were drawn to one corner of the room in which sat three red-velvet dog beds—they seemed incongruous but somehow fit well into the luxurious surroundings.

"Now that's unexpected," whispered Matthew, responding to his wife's raised eyebrow at the sight. He took her hand and led her across the room to an ornate table on which sat several photographs in antique silver frames. Prominent among them was a photograph of a young boy holding a rather nondescript dog. Beside the boy sat two other dogs of seemingly dubious parentage.

"I seem to recall your mother displaying a similar photograph of you holding a dog," said Mary.

Matthew chuckled, "Yes. That was Jasper, truly a boon companion. Mother was not particularly keen on dogs, but Father insisted every boy needed one. He brought him home one afternoon after he found him in an alley behind the hospital. I still remember being thrilled when Father told me he was all mine."

"Yes, every boy should have a dog." Matthew and Mary whirled around to find an imposing woman with upswept hair and twinkling eyes peering at them from the doorway. She stepped forward and said, "Lord and Lady Grantham, I am Victoria Mountbatten. It's a pleasure to meet you."

* * *

The bulk of the visit was spent discussing the plight of the flood victims and the Marchioness expressed her admiration for Matthew and Mary's donation of buildings as housing.

"My sources tell me your donation prompted others to do the same," said the Marchioness. "Sometimes priming the pump is all it takes."

They continued discussing the efforts at flood relief, and as the conversation continued, the couple found themselves fascinated at the Marchioness's grasp of current events. The subject matter soon changed to include a discussion of Matthew's work at Lords and Mary's love of art and horsemanship. The Marchioness seemed to have opinions about everything, and her outspokenness proved to be a delight. They laughed at Churchill's love of cigars, and the Marchioness intimated that her cousin the King was known to enjoy a good cigar at various times during the day, as well.

As the conversation waned, the Marchioness turned to Mary and said emphatically, her expression serious, "I see you are expecting. I hope the incident in France has not affected you or the child adversely."

"That…that remains to be seen, your Ladyship," stuttered Mary. She could not hide her surprise that the Marchioness had heard the story. "Fortunately, the amount of poison I ingested was small, so we're very hopeful."

"A dreadful act, simply dreadful," replied the Marchioness. "When David told me of it, it was all I could do not to call on George to have those two women tracked down. I understand they have been captured, however."

"They have, your Ladyship, much to our relief," said Matthew.

Both Mary and Matthew were surprised to learn that the Prince of Wales had related their story. The idea that the Marchioness considered asking the King to intervene almost was more than they could imagine. But before they could absorb the impact of the Marchioness's statements, they heard a clatter in the adjacent hallway accompanied by the barking of several dogs.

"Ah," said the Marchioness, "that would be my grandson and the pack of hounds he's surrounded himself with. Phillip!" she called. "Phillip, come here!"

A small boy of six or seven years dressed in a red and blue school uniform came bounding into the room followed by three dogs. The couple recognized the boy and the dogs as the ones in the photograph, and they smiled at the boy's obvious enthusiasm. Upon seeing his grandmother's guests, he immediately skidded to a halt. "Hello, Gran." He turned to Mary and Matthew and stuck out his hand to Matthew who promptly shook it. "Hello, I'm Phillip Mountbatten. Who are you?"

Matthew smiled and said, "I'm Matthew Crawley, and this is my wife, Mary. It's a pleasure to meet you." He bent down and rubbed the heads of each of the three dogs, who then moved to their respective beds.

"Phillip, this is Lord and Lady Grantham. Where the devil are your manners?" Despite her stern words, it was obvious from the sparkle in her eyes that the woman doted on the boy.

"Sorry, Gran," said the chastened boy. He turned to Mary, bowed, and said politely, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Grantham."

"It's lovely to meet you, too, young man," replied Mary, beaming at him in spite of herself. She thought him quite an adorable child, his mop of dark, unruly hair and bright, intelligent eyes making him irresistible.

"So, did you learn anything in school today?" asked the Marchioness, reverting with ease to the role of grandmother.

"Not much," replied the boy, unaware of the grins that response provoked, "but the boys in the upper school got to play cricket on the new pitch this afternoon." He pouted for a moment. "I don't know why they wouldn't let us younger boys play."

"Well, no doubt you'll have a chance to participate when you're older," replied the Marchioness. "In the meantime, you simply will have to be content to play with boys your own age."

"I suppose, but when I'm older, I'm going to play every sport there is, _and_ I'll let everyone have a chance to play. Then I'm going to join the Navy."

"Spoken like a true socialist. Now off with you. I think cook has prepared one of your favorite snacks. Give me a kiss and say good-bye to Lord and Lady Grantham."

"Good-bye!" he exclaimed and turned to his grandmother and kissed her quickly before rushing from the room. The dogs leapt from their beds and ran from the room in pursuit.

The Marchioness leaned backward against her chair. "I taught my own children at home, but I've found I simply don't have the strength any more. I enrolled him in Cheam School, hoping they'll be able to drum some interest in academics into that hard head of his, but I fear athletics may win out."

"He's still young, so give him time," said Matthew. "My early years in school were taken up with physical pursuits, as well. It wasn't until I reached my teens that I saw the value of academics."

"And he became a fine solicitor," added Mary, "although I think he might harbor a slight regret at not pursuing cricket professionally."

Matthew smiled and said nothing.

After Matthew and Mary departed, the Marchioness sat alone in her sitting room, recalling that afternoon's visit with the Granthams. The couple had made quite an impression on her, and she understood David's admiration of Lady Grantham in particular. Both were sophisticated and intelligent and were not afraid to voice their opinions about the subjects she felt passionate about. She also had noticed Lord Grantham's affectionate glances towards his wife as she spoke of her ordeal, and she was reminded of her own love match with her dear Louis. She missed the companionship and passion that being in love afforded, and the couple's obvious love for each other was a poignant reminder of what she and Louis had shared. They clearly were a couple that would be worth her patronage, and she resolved to include them in future gatherings with friends and acquaintances. Their attractiveness and refinement definitely would be an asset to any social event. And their ease with both her and Phillip was impressive.

She liked them both very much.

* * *

"It was kind of the Marchioness to allow us to wander through the Sunken Garden before we left," said Mary as she and Matthew settled into the back seat of the motor. "I can imagine how wonderful those ornamental flower beds look in the spring and summer."

"The gardener said the fountains were formed from eighteenth-century water cisterns," remarked Matthew. "We should consider adding a fountain at the Abbey."

"Maybe," mused Mary. She was quiet for a moment and then said, "Little Phillip seemed to be a nice boy."

"I wonder why he's living with the Marchioness," said Matthew. "Do you know anything about his parents?"

"Only that his father is Prince Andrew of Greece and Denmark. His mother is the Marchioness's daughter Princess Alice. I understand they do not live together and that she has had health issues recently. It's a shame, really, that he seems to have been shuffled about, for he is a charming child. I hope the lack of stability doesn't affect him adversely."

Matthew nodded. "I suspect he'll manage to make something of himself. His grandmother will see to that."

* * *

"So, you don't mind going with me to Asprey this afternoon?" called Mary from her closet.

Matthew stuck his head out of the en suite doorway and replied, "Of course not. I only have one committee meeting this morning, so there's no need for you to go alone. I'll be home in plenty of time."

"It shouldn't take too long. We'll still have time to dress and meet Sarah and Stuart at the Savoy."

"Marvelous. I'm looking forward to it. Now, promise me you'll be careful this morning. I mean it, Mary."

"Of course, darling. Sarah and I will just take a quick walk-through and be back in time for luncheon. I'm anxious to see the progress. With any luck, people will be able to move in next week."

"That _is_ good news. I'm sorry I won't be able to tag along, but duty calls."

"And you're such a creature of duty, aren't you?" teased Mary.

Matthew laughed and wiped the bits of shaving soap from his face. "Most of the time, yes, darling, I am."

* * *

Matthew steered the motor towards Bond Street, the central London location of Asprey, a shop that specialized in articles of exclusive design and high quality. From jewelry to dressing cases to leather goods, Asprey designed and manufactured items that catered to people of refinement, and since her arrival in London seven years earlier, Mary had shopped there regularly. When she returned from her honeymoon, she had ordered a new dressing case, for the one she had used for years had seen better days. The wood was cracked due to overuse, and one of the crystal bottles had broken when the case slipped from her hands as she was packing for a trip to see Sybil years earlier. She almost hated to part with it, but she was pleased to discover that the new cases were lighter and roomier, so she looked forward to using the new case on future trips.

When they entered the shop, Matthew was surprised at its intimacy. He had expected a large emporium, but he discovered it was separated into small rooms—each one focused on particular goods. The premises once had comprised dwelling apartments, and the original high ceilings and doorways had been retained. A doorman greeted the couple, and Mary walked immediately to a counter behind which stood a well-dressed, elderly clerk who greeted her by name.

"Lady Grantham. How delightful to see you again."

"Thank you, George. It's wonderful to see you again, too. May I introduce Lord Grantham, my husband?"

"Hello, your lordship," said George. "Welcome to Asprey."

Matthew thanked him, looked around, and said, "This is quite a place. I understand my wife is one of your best customers."

"She is indeed, Lord Grantham. I made her acquaintance in '21 when she was newly-arrived in London. It's always a pleasure to welcome her back to Asprey."

Matthew blanched inwardly at the clerk's pronouncement, for it brought back the memory of the reason for her move to London. Any reminder of his foolishness was painful.

Sensing Matthew's discomfort, Mary was quick to inquire, "We're here to pick up my new dressing case, George. Would you check to see that it's ready?"

"Of course, Lady Grantham. I'll just be a moment." He walked from behind the counter and disappeared through a curtain into an adjoining room.

The couple wandered around the room, marveling at the "fancy goods" that included stationery, cutlery, silver and tableware, pocket books, and dressing cases. Lining the walls were Royal Warrants dating from 1862, honoring the business for its excellence. While Mary waited for George to return with her case, Matthew wandered through another doorway into a room filled with cases of jewelry.

He stopped before one case to admire a pear-shaped ruby pendant with a pavé diamond surround and a brilliant-cut diamond at the top, all set in platinum.

A clerk approached and asked, "May I show this to you, sir?"

Matthew stared at the piece for a moment, his face pensive. He looked at the clerk and said, "Ah, not today, thank you."

When Matthew returned to Mary, she was looking at leather pocketbooks and debating whether to purchase one as a gift for Matthew. She had inspected the dressing case, given George her approval, and he had returned to the back to have it wrapped for her.

"Darling," said Matthew, touching her arm, "why don't I go across the street to that wine shop to see if they carry that almond liqueur Stuart and Sarah are so fond of? If they have it, we can take it to them this evening."

Mary smiled at Matthew's thoughtfulness. "That's a good idea, Matthew. I'm so glad you thought of it."

"All right, darling. Wait here. I'll be back in a moment." He grinned and added, "I'm sure you'll be able to find something to pique your interest." He kissed her cheek softly and left the shop.

Mary waited patiently for Matthew's return, browsing the cases and compiling a mental list of items that might be given as gifts. George emerged from the back of the shop, carrying a bag that contained Mary's dressing case. He escorted her to the front of the store and waited with Mary for Matthew to emerge from the wine shop.

"He's been in there a while," remarked Mary, peering through the large window towards the wine shop. "He must have found some things of interest. Thank you for waiting with me, George, but it's really not necessary."

Just as George was about to reply, their attention was caught by someone stumbling out of the wine shop and falling to the pavement. A passerby went to his aid and yelled to a passing constable, who came running. The two men dragged the man across the street into Asprey where they laid him out on the floor in front of Mary and George, who both were dumbstruck.

"He shot me!" the man gasped. A wound in his shoulder was proof of his statement.

"Who shot you?" asked the constable.

"Robber…a robber. He's raving mad, I tell you. I tried to get away, and he shot me."

"How many people still are in the shop?"

"Three. My boss…the owner…and two customers. That madman shot one of them, too."


	48. Chapter 48

It was the not knowing that preyed on her.

Mary sat silently in a wooden chair set before Asprey's front window, the muffled pounding of her heart filling her ears, cold fear enveloping her, her brain rehashing the afternoon's events. Matthew had gone to the wine shop and, while he was there, someone had entered the shop—someone dangerous, someone armed, someone intent on getting his way—and in an instant had turned her world upside down. She looked down at the bloodstained floor where moments— _or was it hours?_ — earlier, an injured man described a horrific scene inside the wine shop. A desperate man, his eyes wild and his clothes askew, entered the shop with the intent to rob it. After witnessing the shooting of a customer who tried to intervene, the wounded man had attempted to run and was shot for his efforts.

She had no way of knowing whether Matthew was alive.

A section of Bond Street and its sidewalks had been cordoned off by constables in order for the police to have clear access to the wine shop and to keep away small crowds that had gathered to watch the goings on. All Mary and Asprey's other customers knew was they were told by a constable to remain inside the shop until the standoff across the street ended; however, thanks to an expansion, Asprey had another entrance facing Albemarle Street, which ran parallel to Bond Street. All of the customers except Mary opted to leave the shop via that exit.

Mary chose to stay.

"Lady Grantham, we have a chaise in the back room. Wouldn't you be more comfortable there?" asked George, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Thank you, no," replied Mary resolutely. Shutters had been pulled partway across the window, leaving her with a narrow view of the goings-on across the street. She did not want to leave her position, not as long as there was a chance of catching a glimpse of Matthew, for several times she had seen shadowy movement inside the wine shop. The child within her stirred, causing a shadow of a smile to cross her face, giving her a modicum of hope. _He won't be taken from me._

"Very well, but please let me bring you some tea," responded the clerk. He was concerned about her pallor, for she had been sitting rigidly on the hard wooden chair for over an hour and looked as if the strain were becoming too much.

"That would be lovely," she replied, her response mechanical, her eyes riveted to the scene outside. She sat unmoving, her hands resting protectively on her belly, trying in vain to keep from her mind visions of the peril Matthew surely must be facing. _It would be just like him to try to prevent a robbery._

She couldn't bring herself to fear the worst, for she believed with all her heart she would be able to sense if something dire had happened to him; nevertheless, having to sit alone—expectant, fearful, agonized—tested her mettle.

She couldn't imagine life without him and shuddered to recall that little over a year earlier he had been totally absent from her life.

She couldn't be alone again.

She couldn't….

Movement in the street suddenly caught her attention. Something appeared to be stirring across the way.

From her vantage point, Mary surmised that the officers were making an effort to negotiate with the man inside the wine shop. One officer stood outside the door, which someone held ajar, and spoke to someone inside. Shaking his head and often looking at the cadre of officers nearby, the man obviously was trying to convince the man to surrender. After what seemed an interminable amount of time, the officer motioned to several officers who ran to the door as he stepped inside the building.

After several tense moments, Mary was startled to see officers coming from the wine shop just as an ambulance pulled in front of the building. Two constables directed the emergency workers inside the wine shop, and a few minutes later, they emerged with a stretcher on which lay a figure completely covered by a white sheet. Mary's hand flew to her mouth as she jumped to her feet.

Just as she headed to the door, she heard a familiar voice say, "Mary?"

She whirled around and there stood Matthew, who had entered the room from an adjoining showroom. He was laden with two packages wrapped in brown paper under one arm, a stuffed bear under the other. His face was a mixture of anxiety and relief.

She clapped a hand over her mouth and began to cry, one arm spanning her belly, looking at him through tears. One corner of his mouth turned up, and his head cocked to the side.

"Mary," he said again, this time softly, his voice deep and quiet.

He placed the packages onto the counter and walked slowly towards her; she rushed to him, her arms reaching for him and her eyes squeezed shut. He caught her in his arms and held her as she sobbed into his chest, her belly impeding the closeness they both craved.

She clenched her fists into his shirt. "How is it you're here? I thought…oh, Matthew, I thought…"

"It's all right, my darling, it's all right," he said, trying to soothe her, concerned that she was trembling uncontrollably. "Come. Sit." He led her back to her chair and squatted in front of her, holding her hands.

"The wine shop didn't have the liqueur, so I was headed back here when I spotted a branch of Hamleys five doors down." He looked chagrined. "I couldn't resist the lure of the best toy shop in London, so…" He kissed her hands and whispered, "My darling, I'm so, so sorry."

"Oh, Matthew, I thought you were in the wine shop, and…" She caressed his face and smoothed his mussed hair. She pressed her forehead to his and whispered, "I was so afraid…"

Matthew used his thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "I spent more time in Hamleys than I realized, and when I left the store to return here, the sidewalk was blocked. I didn't know what had happened and was trapped in the crowd. Word spread about the incident, and I was frantic to get to you, but the constables wouldn't let me through." He shook his head sadly and said, "A woman saw my distress, and when I told her where you were, she told me about the Albemarle Street entrance, so I went down Grafton and…well…here I am."

Totally oblivious to the stirrings around them, the couple resumed holding hands as their heartbeats calmed and their breathing eased, relief engulfing them. Grateful to be together once more and eager to return to Painswick House, they stood, and Mary turned to George, who was standing discreetly in front of the counter, and held out her hand, saying, "Thank you for your care and concern, George."

Shaking her hand gently, the clerk replied, "It was my honor, Lady Grantham. I'm relieved all ended well." He then turned to Matthew and bowed slightly. "My lord."

"Good day, George. I appreciate your looking after Lady Grantham."

"Of course, sir. May I say how relieved we all are that you returned safely. We were quite worried for both you and for Lady Grantham."

"Thank you," Matthew replied with a smile. He turned to Mary and said, "Now, it's time I got you home."

Just as Matthew's hand touched the door handle, George called out, "Lord Grantham! Your packages!"

"Oh, right. They quite slipped my mind, I'm afraid," he said, slightly annoyed at his own forgetfulness.

Matthew gathered the packages into his arms and as he reached for the stuffed bear, Mary said softly, "I'll take that."

* * *

Once they reached Painswick House, they made their way to the sitting room. Matthew directed Gleason to take the packages upstairs, and as the butler took his leave, he was surprised to see Matthew take Mary into his arms and kiss her passionately, both of them oblivious to the butler's watchful gaze and faint smile. As the door clicked shut, Matthew led Mary to the settee and settled her into his arms.

"I know we were to meet Stuart and Sarah at the Savoy for dinner, but wouldn't you rather stay in and make an early night of it?" asked Matthew.

Mary sighed, "I really would although I know how much you were looking forward to the evening out. Besides, we gave Cook the evening off, remember?"

"Oh, I imagine we'll manage to find something to eat in the kitchen. Cook never leaves us unprepared; she and Mrs. Patmore are kindred spirits that way. Why don't I telephone Stuart while you go upstairs to change? By the time you come back downstairs, I'll have sorted something out for our dinner. I have to admit I'll enjoy a quiet evening here after today's excitement."

"That sounds wonderful, Matthew," replied Mary, relief evident in her voice. "I won't be long."

When Mary entered their room, her attention was drawn to the pile of packages sitting on the chaise, on top of which sat the stuffed bear. Stephens helped her change out of her crepe de Chine coat and beige under-dress, and relieved to be shed of the maternity corset despite the back support it provided, she put on her favorite set of lounging pyjamas. Breathing a sigh of relief and dismissing her maid, Mary picked up the bear and smiled. It was a golden mohair bear with shoe button eyes and a leather muzzle. Measuring twenty-four inches in height and filled with wood shavings, it was a charming toy that Mary thought would be perfect in a nursery. As she looked at it more closely, she noted the hand stitching and discovered a button embossed with _Steiff_ in its ear. She suspected Matthew had purchased the bear on a whim, and she was nearly overcome with emotion when she realized that he had purchased their child's first toy.

"Oh, Matthew," she whispered to herself, "what a good papa you'll be."

Reaching down to the wrapped packages, she quickly unwrapped the new dressing case and placed it on a shelf in her closet. Returning to the other packages, she nearly was overwhelmed once more when she discovered their contents, for Matthew had purchased books—children's books to be exact. There were fourteen _Oz_ books, each containing illustrations on many pages, backgrounds in different colors, and several color plate illustrations. She then uncovered a pair of books _, Winnie-the-Pooh_ and _The House at Pooh Corner_. She remembered a story published in the _London Evening News_ years before and looked at the stuffed bear that bore a resemblance to the main character. She thumbed through the first volume, noted the charming illustrations, and imagined how a child might be entranced by the whimsical stories. She barely could see through tear-filled eyes as the paper covering the last set of books fell to the floor—eight volumes bearing the name _Dr. Doolittle_ were revealed, their covers shimmering and colorful and pristine.

That Matthew had such faith in their child's survival filled her with renewed hope, and she sat on the edge of the chaise clutching the books and the bear while she wept.

After several emotional minutes, she wiped the tears from her eyes and rang for Stephens.

* * *

Matthew had foraged through the kitchen and found a veritable feast of leftover food. A tureen filled with Cook's savory tomato soup was in the ice box, along with a plate of sliced baked chicken and a bowl of berries. He pulled a round of cheese from the back of the ice box and set it on the counter beside the other items. After a bit of searching, he found a loaf of bread in the larder but passed on the bulbous jar of Bovril, wrinkling his nose at the thought of spreading the meat extract paste on the aromatic bread. The canned goods weren't particularly appealing, either, so he decided a meal of soup, chicken sandwiches, cheese, and fruit would suffice. Spying a basket filled with eggs, he believed he could manage to produce a scramble that wouldn't be too offensive, so he lit the stove and set about gathering the necessary pots and bowls.

Mary stood in the kitchen doorway and smiled as she watched her husband work, her heart melting in response to his efforts. Plates clattered and pots rang as he rummaged through the cabinets, and unable to control herself, she said in a voice tinged with humor, "I never knew you were so domestic."

Startled, he looked up, blushed, and replied cheekily, "I have a talent for all sorts of things, my dear."

"I can see that," she replied. "Do you need any help?"

He cocked an eyebrow in response. "Hmmm. I suspect you're less experienced at cooking than I, so I don't know. What do you know how to do?"

"Sir, I'll have you know the kitchen and I are not strangers. In fact, I've been known to scramble many an egg in my day, and my skill with a paring knife is unmatched."

Matthew grinned at the determined look on Mary's face. "Well, well, well, then it's time I witnessed your expertise." He removed an apron from a hook on the wall and pitched it to her. "Be my guest. The soup is on the stove, so I'll slice the bread and cheese while you handle the eggs."

Mary donned the apron and skillfully cracked six eggs into a mixing bowl Matthew had placed on the counter. Whisking the eggs with a haughty look on her face, Mary strode over to the stove and poured the mixture into a skillet Matthew had set out. He watched with admiration as she stirred the eggs carefully, pleased to discover she had accepted his challenge.

"There are plates and bowls in this cabinet," she said, using her elbow to denote the one next to the stove, "and the cutlery is in the drawer beneath."

"I see you _do_ know your way around this kitchen," remarked Matthew with a smile. "I'll have to remember that."

"Of course," she rejoined. "Who do you think designed it? In my early days here, I coerced Cook into putting up with my culinary curiosity and convinced her I truly did want to learn to cook a few dishes."

Matthew laughed at her alliterative phrasing and replied, "It's good to know we won't starve if she abandons us."

"Speaking of not starving, how is it you seem so comfortable in here?"

"Mother was determined I should be able to fend for myself should the need arise. Remember, for most of my life, I was destined simply to be a middle-class solicitor."

"Upper middle class," Mary retorted.

They both laughed at the familiar phrase.

"Right. Anyway, I'm afraid the most I can do is light a stove and slice things. I'm woefully unskilled when it comes to much more than that."

"Well, to be totally honest, I don't find cooking particularly appealing, but it's good to know we can produce an edible meal if we have to." She continued stirring the eggs as Matthew watched her fondly. She never ceased to surprise him. Although in his eyes she was the epitome of refinement and grace, her willingness to engage in activities foreign to most women of her station earned his admiration. To him, she always would be a wonder.

Mary heard Matthew utter "Ah, ha" and looked over to see him unwrapping a freshly-baked apple cake Cook obviously had baked earlier in the day. "I've found our dessert," he announced, happy to discover his sweet tooth would be sated. He cut two large slices and re-wrapped the cake, placing it back on the counter.

Once they finished their respective tasks, they plated the food, and Matthew carried the tray up the stairs into the dining room. Mary followed with the linens and cutlery, setting the table quickly as Matthew balanced the tray. They sat together and ate in silent contentment, not minding the sloshed soup, the overcooked eggs, or the raggedly-cut cheese. The meal surpassed their expectations, and both thought they never had eaten a more satisfying dinner.

When Matthew finished his last bite of apple cake, he leaned back in his chair and asked, "Well, Mrs. Crawley, have you had enough to eat?"

"Absolutely, Mr. Crawley. Everything was delicious, wasn't it? I thought the chicken sandwiches were superb."

"And the eggs were particularly well prepared. You may have missed your calling."

"I doubt that. Cook's position is safe, but I thank you for your kind words." She frowned as she looked across the table. "I'm afraid I'm inept when it comes to clean up, but I suppose..." She started to rise, and Matthew took her hand in his.

"No. You stay here. Let's leave that task to the experts. I'll take all of this down to the kitchen where it will be out of sight and out of mind."

"Very well. I'll meet you in the sitting room."

Mary awaited Matthew's appearance, eager to share with him the surprise she had prepared upstairs. She poured his brandy into a crystal snifter and sat quietly, an enigmatic smile on her face, which he noticed immediately upon entering the room.

"I've seen that smile before, my love. It's always a sign that you've been up to something."

"I don't know what you mean," she replied coyly. "Can't a wife smile when her husband enters a room?"

"I'm the one who should be smiling. Seeing you sitting there, knowing you're waiting for me, is the answer to every prayer I ever had." He sat beside her, drew a breath, and said softly, "Do you realize this time last year we both were living entirely different lives?"

"It's funny you should say that because I was thinking exactly the same thing today as I was waiting for you to emerge from that wine shop." She bounced his hand in hers. "You know, I had accepted my lot in life, content to spend my days in solitude, not giving the possibility of happiness much thought."

He rested his lips on her temple and whispered, "I'll never forgive myself for hurting you so."

"Stop, Matthew. From what you've told me, I know you were hurting, as well."

"Yes, but…"

"But everything has turned out for the best, and now the happiness we have was worth every bit of the waiting. You, my darling, have given me everything I've ever wanted."

"I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy, Mary."

"I know that, and I love you for it, but you don't have to try. Just being with you is enough." She watched as he finished the last of his brandy. "Now, are you ready to go upstairs?"

"Absolutely."

She took his hand and led him up the staircase and down the hallway, stopping before the door to the bedroom next to theirs. Opening the door and pulling him inside, she said in a whisper, "I think with some refurbishment this room might make the perfect nursery. What do you think?"

Matthew looked around the room, almost afraid to speak. Then he noticed the books he had purchased that afternoon were arranged artfully on top of a massive mahogany bureau. Next to them sat the stuffed bear, one of its paws resting atop the prized copy of _Winnie-the-Pooh._ The unexpected vignette filled him with emotion, and his tear-filled eyes met those of his wife's. He knew this gesture was her way of acknowledging his greatest hope. When he last proposed renovating one of the bedrooms as a nursery, Mary rejected the suggestion. Now, he knew she shared his vision. He weighed his response carefully. "I think…I think…it's a marvelous idea. It won't take much to make this room everything you want…some paint, paper, furnishings…" He looked back at her, and after catching her tears with a hastily-produced handkerchief, he took her into his arms. "I love the idea of having the little bugger close by."

Mary sniffed away a laugh. "You might re-think that idea when the baby requires our attention all hours of the day and night."

He took her face in his hands and said, "Mary, giving our child our attention is what I've looked forward to for months." He kissed her softly and asked, "What made you change your mind?"

Her eyes softened as she answered, "Mainly, it was the books. I realized just how much you were looking forward to the baby and how denying you the opportunity to prepare was selfish on my part. And today…sitting…waiting…for you to return to me filled me with such dread at how much would be lost if something happened to you. Then the baby moved, and I felt…just for a moment…all would be well. Somehow, I just knew…oh, Matthew, we're so very lucky, and the idea of preparing for this child fills me with such joy that…that…I know now we need to ensure all is in readiness. We have no way of knowing what the future holds, but we can start with this room—and the nursery at the Abbey—the rest will fall into place."

Matthew smiled and hugged her tightly. "That's what I've been waiting to hear, my darling. Make both nurseries as beautiful as you wish. Spare no expense." She looked at him in surprise, and he chuckled, "I may regret saying that."

"I promise to rein in my spending, but I can't promise the same if Mama, Granny, and Isobel try to have a hand in decorating. Perhaps I'll limit them to choosing the linens."

"Well, you did manage to have your way with the wedding."

"Perhaps, but I suspect I won't fare as well when it comes to the baby. Mama and Granny nearly are beside themselves, and I don't know if I've ever seen Isobel so…so _Isobel._ "

Matthew gave a hearty laugh, for he understood exactly what Mary was implying. His mother _had_ been flaunting her knowledge of all things pertaining to childbirth to the point that he was loath to share Doctor Ryder's modern opinions with her. Taking Mary's hand, he walked to the bureau and picked up one of the Dr. Doolittle books.

"Do you know the story behind these books?" he asked.

"No," she replied, "I don't think so."

"Hugh Lofting created the characters when writing letters to his children during the war. He felt actual news was either too horrible or too dull to include in his letters home. He even did the illustrations. From what I understand, he was dismayed at the way the Army's animals were killed and discarded instead of medically treated. Having witnessed that myself, it's easy to understand how he came up with the story of a man who shuns human patients in favor of animals."

"Did you serve with him?"

"No, he was in the Irish Guard, I believe, but when the first book was published in 1920, I saw an article about him in the _Times._ I believe he and his wife and children currently are living in America."

"How wonderful that he had the presence of mind to write things that would entertain his children rather than terrify or bore them. And now knowing his story will make reading these books especially pleasurable. I'm so glad you bought them, Matthew."

"It's obvious I had a good time looking through all the books Hamleys had to offer. It was all I could do not to buy out the shop."

"We'll just have to go back there when we return next month. Perhaps we can choose some titles together."

"You don't mind that I bought these without you, do you?"

"Of course not! I'm thrilled you've shown such interest in things for the baby, truly. I just think it will be fun to shop together next time is all."

"Then we'll make it a point to plan a shopping trip. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm ready to retire for the evening. It's been a long day."

Mary nodded. Matthew was right. Her day began with an outing with Sarah to visit the buildings that were being renovated followed by the harrowing trip to Asprey. She hadn't had any time to rest, and she could feel exhaustion setting in. They walked arm-in-arm to their bedroom, and each began to prepare for bed. Stephens had drawn a bath for Mary, and as relaxing as it was, Mary hurried her ablutions and donned her nightgown with a sigh of relief. Entering the bedroom from the en suite, she saw a shirtless Matthew turning down the bed and noted how his hair was lit bronze by the firelight. She was stirred seeing the beautiful things the fire did to his eyes and skin, and she found herself mesmerized by the vision before her. She turned quickly and faced the full-length mirror, checking her appearance before getting into bed.

Suddenly he was behind her, and she heard him say softly, "Look how beautiful you are." When she scoffed, he pushed her loose dressing gown from her shoulders, leaving her clad only in her filmy gown. His hands came around to her belly—resting, caressing, soothing—as his chin came to her shoulder and rested there.

Her breath escalated slightly as his hands gathered the delicate fabric and then moved higher, his thumbs brushing the underside of each breast. She moaned softly, and his hands covered her breasts, feeling her nipples harden at his gentle touch. "Raise your arms, my love," he whispered, and he lifted the gown from her flushed body. Her skin glowed in the firelight, and he pressed his lips to her shoulder, the warmth of her skin radiating onto his. She leaned back into his bare chest and sighed. Their eyes met in the mirror, and he murmured, "Exquisite. My God, Mary, you've always been the most beautiful woman I've ever known."

"I don't know how you can find me attractive, Matthew. I'm growing bigger each day." She knew her weight gain was part of being pregnant, but she always had prided herself on having a slender figure. She felt cumbersome and awkward, despite his assurances and obvious attraction to her.

"Believe me, you truly are beautiful...flawless, my love." A full-blown blush covered her from head to toe, and her head fell back onto his shoulder as his teeth nipped at her neck. "Watch, Mary, watch how you respond to my touch," he hummed, as his fingers played with her flesh. Her eyes were riveted to the mirror and her breath caught as his hands moved over her body. She gripped his forearm as his hand moved between her legs.

"I need you," she whispered, her plea reflected in her eyes.

Without a word, he leaned around her and took her bottom lip between his teeth, his hands pressing her body to his, making her whimper, lost in the sensation of his mouth on hers. Her hands went to his hair as he walked backwards towards their bed. He stretched out on the silken sheets and helped her sit astride his hips, his hands never leaving her body. He watched through hooded eyes as she sank down onto him, both of them groaning at the sensation, letting go of any self-consciousness, as their shadows ghosted upon the room's ceiling and walls. She rocked her hips as he lifted his torso and stroked gently in and out of her. Slowly, tenderly they connected, both emitting quiet, breathy moans as their passion began to build. His hands shifted from her thighs to her belly to her breasts, while her hands grasped his shoulders to help her balance her weight.

"So much, my love, so much," he said quietly, as his pace increased.

Tremors of desire, lust, and passion surged through him as she caressed his chest, and with one final fervent effort, they both found an earth-shattering release.

They spent the rest of the night wrapped together, lost in pleasant dreams, breathing as one.

* * *

When they arrived in Downton, their first order of business was to relate to Violet, Cora, and Isobel all that had occurred with Flo and Maud in France. Sitting in the library, the three women were alternately horrified and delighted with the outcome. Cora shook her head in amazement when Violet's role in the scheme was revealed, and Isobel pursed her lips in consternation.

"You didn't say a thing," snipped Isobel, her eyes flashing daggers at Violet.

"Of course, I didn't," snapped Violet. "Some things are better left to those directly involved."

Isobel sputtered, incensed at Violet's superior attitude. "I would think that because the confrontation with those women involved _my son and daughter-in-law_ , you might not have kept me in the dark."

"I must agree with Isobel, Mama," complained Cora. "You should have told us about your part in the plan, at least. You would have been resentful if the roles had been reversed and we had kept the information from you."

"Fine, fine," Violet sniffed. "The next time I make arrangements to avenge attacks on this family, I'll be sure to let you know. One would think you might show some gratitude…"

Isobel wheeled towards Matthew and Mary, who were sitting quietly on the sofa, trying to avoid the barbs being thrown about the room. "As for you two, I'm shocked you kept us in the dark. When I think about Mary facing such stress in her condition…"

"Mother! She was in no danger. We spoke with Dr. Ryder prior to the crossing, and he assured us she was perfectly healthy. Do you think for one minute I'd jeopardize her life or our child's life?"

"Isobel," Mary placed her hand on Matthew's arm and said calmly, "We didn't know how the plan would work out, and until things were resolved, we felt the fewer people who knew, the better. Don't blame Granny for this. You and Mama would have been beside yourselves with worry, and we didn't want that."

"Well, what's done is done," said Cora resolutely. "Are those dreadful women still in custody?"

"Yes," responded Matthew, "and if they're sensible, they'll confess to avoid a trial."

"So, you and Mary might have to return to testify if they don't confess?" asked Cora, horrified at the notion.

"It's a possibility, but according to Minister Sarraut, highly unlikely," smirked Violet. Her response caused the rest of the group to look at her incredulously.

"You've spoken with the Minister?" asked Matthew.

"Of course," Violet replied imperiously. "Albert assures me another trip will not be necessary."

"Well," remarked Isobel stiffly, "you certainly are a fount of information. What else do you know that you've been keeping from us?"

"I believe that's all," replied Violet, taking a sip of her tea. "If I think of anything else, I'll let you know." She placed her cup down in her saucer and asked coolly, "Now, should we discuss our upcoming travels to London?"

"What?" asked Matthew and Mary in unison.

"We plan to travel to London next month and stay at Grantham House for the duration of your pregnancy," said Cora.

"All three of you?" asked Matthew in disbelief.

"Of course, all three of us. Even if Violet and Cora chose not to go, you don't think for one minute I won't be present for the birth of my grandchild?" replied Isobel.

Matthew struggled to find words. "I…um…it didn't occur to me…you might…"

"It makes perfect sense, Matthew. We'll stay at Grantham House out of your way," remarked Cora cheerily. "It will be like we're not really there at all."

"I doubt it," said Mary under her breath as her husband's face returned to its normal color.

"You certainly can't begrudge me one final trip to London, can you?" said Violet, her eyes twinkling despite her downturned mouth.

"Oh, Granny. Playing that age card is becoming a tired ploy," said Mary. "At the rate you're going, you'll outlive us all."

* * *

Lying in Matthew's arms, sated and sleepy, Mary mumbled, "I suppose we should be grateful they're staying at Grantham House. At least we'll have most of the day to ourselves."

"We'll just have to make the best of it." Running his fingers through her hair, he said, "I had a feeling our mothers would go to London once the baby was born, but I never imagined all three of them would relocate there for the last two months of the pregnancy."

"Well, darling, we _are_ talking about the three most assertive women in Yorkshire," Mary said with a laugh.

"Well, three of the four," he laughed, as Mary punched his arm. "As long as they exhibit some restraint and don't drive you to distraction, I won't complain, but you must promise to let me know if I need to step in."

"I promise, darling." Placing a kiss on his chest, she asked, "How is it you're so good to me?"

"As I've told you many times, my love, you're everything to me. Nothing in my life matters more than you. Keeping things on an even keel for you will be my first priority."

"As well it should be," teased Mary, laughing as he buried his face in her neck.


	49. Chapter 49

Although she knew she should begin dressing for dinner, Mary could not bring herself to leave the confines of the newly-decorated nursery. The late-afternoon light softened the edges of the room, and she sat contentedly in the upholstered rocking chair, her gaze traveling around the lovely space. She and Matthew had chosen a color scheme of soft yellows and lilacs for the Painswick House nursery, which was reflected in the bedding, draperies, and accessories, and she smiled serenely, remembering their compromise of creamy white paint for the walls. When she originally suggested lilac paper with a fleur-de-lis design, Matthew's grimace made his feelings clear, and he countered with painting the walls bright yellow, which Mary vehemently rejected. They finally agreed their favored colors could be integrated into the room in other ways, and the resulting décor proved to be both comforting and beautiful.

She closed her eyes, hopeful that the room's serenity was a harbinger of things to come.

She and Matthew had returned to London a fortnight earlier to settle into Painswick House in preparation for the birth of their child, less than two months away. When they first arrived in London, she and Matthew had enjoyed brief outings to shop or to visit with friends, but during Mary's most-recent visit with Doctor Ryder, he had expressed concern about her elevated blood pressure and occasional dizzy spells. He encouraged Matthew and her to continue their early-evening walks around the square but said in no uncertain terms that her other activities should be curtailed. Essentially homebound, her days were spent mainly perusing magazines and generally trying to find ways to alleviate her boredom. Sarah visited occasionally, and Cora, Violet, and Isobel came often, either for luncheon or dinner. In the afternoons after her nap, she and Matthew spent time together in the sitting room. Sometimes he would regale her with tales about working with members of the Lords, some of whose eccentricities left her laughing and gasping for breath. From Arthur Balfour's self-obsessed, Balfourian detachment to Winston Churchill's pointed barbs, Matthew's descriptions never failed to entertain her. Other times he read aloud poetry or excerpts from their favorite novels as she relaxed with her feet in his lap. As always, they cherished their time together, and family and servants alike quickly learned not to disturb each afternoon's tête-à-tête.

For Matthew's part, he was determined to ensure Mary's final two months of pregnancy were as stress-free as possible, for Dr. Ryder's warning about the dangers of high blood pressure coupled with the lingering effects of the poison she had ingested made him determined to prevent anything from disturbing her. He intercepted telephone calls, handled their business correspondence, and barely let her out of his sight, looking for signs of discomfort or distress. He ruffled some feathers when he insisted to the three elder Crawley women that they limit their visits to every other day after Mary mentioned how incessant their questions had become. Although he tried not to hover, he could not help staring whenever she was near, for in his mind, Mary was a vision of loveliness. She continued to insist he couldn't possibly find her attractive, which made him scoff. To him her expanding belly was a wonder, an elastic orb that held the universe. And he also could barely contain his excitement about becoming a father.

Mary smiled to herself, remembering it was he who could not resist purchasing item after item for the two nurseries until she finally put her foot down and forbade him from bringing home one more stuffed animal. When he arrived early that afternoon with a bundle of books under his arm, she sighed with exasperation.

* * *

" _Matthew, darling, the nursery bookcase will collapse if we add one more book to the shelves."_

 _Grinning slyly, he replied, "Oh, so you think we should add one more bookcase to the room?"_

" _That's not what I'm saying. Honestly, Matthew, the nursery is ready. There's no need to purchase anything else."_

" _I know, I know." He held up the set of_ Grimms' Fairy Tales _. "But these were just too wonderful to resist. Look at the gilding on the edges…"_

 _Mary laughed and rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."_

" _But you love me anyway, don't you?"_

* * *

Mary reached across to the over-laden bookcase and pulled _Baby's Own Aesop_ from the shelf. Unable to resist its charm, she and Matthew had purchased it in a little bookshop on Regent Street to add to the ever-growing collection of children's books housed in the Painswick House nursery. As she turned the pages, she ran her fingers over Walter Crane's exquisite illustrations. She had to admit Matthew had excellent taste when choosing items for both nurseries. Until Dr. Ryder's admonition and Matthew's subsequent insistence on her being homebound, she and Matthew had enjoyed browsing London's fashionable shops and department stores, and his keen eye and discernment had proved to be assets when it came to shopping for the nurseries in Painswick House and in the Abbey. On their last shopping trip, watching him test the softness of blankets and toys caused her to shake her head in amusement until she suddenly was overcome with emotion. His unadulterated joy while performing such a simple act filled her with so much love it was all she could do to keep from melting into a puddle of tears at the sight of him with a fuzzy lamb in his hands.

As she leaned her head against the back of the chair, she remembered the last time she sat with Matthew on their bench under the towering Lebanon cedar on the Abbey's grounds. They were scheduled to leave for London the next day and had walked around the grounds, taking advantage of the unseasonable warmth of the early spring day. Looking up into the gnarled branches, she had noted with satisfaction the new growth emerging from the large, erect branches covered with blackish brown bark that was cracked and fissured.

* * *

" _Just think," he had said, his hand on her belly,_ _the baby stirring beneath his fingers as he brushed her skin_ _, "All the love that we have for each other, we put in this safe place here."_

 _Mary ran her fingers through Matthew's silken hair. "Mmmm. All this time I've wondered and wondered, who is this person coming, growing, turning, floating, growing deep, deep inside? Already this child has filled a place in my heart I never knew was empty."_

 _Matthew sat up and embraced her, whispering, "Our lives never will be the same. Somehow, I find comfort in that. It's as if I've spent my entire life in a waiting room, anticipating who will come through the door."_

" _You realize when we come back from London, we won't be a couple anymore."_

 _Matthew looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean?" he asked._

" _We'll be a family," she whispered, dipping her head, her voice quavering with emotion._

* * *

"Mary?" Cora's familiar voice came from the doorway shaking Mary out of her reverie. "Matthew sent me up to check on you. Aren't you coming to dinner?" She paused for a moment, looked around the room wistfully, and said softly, "Oh, this is a lovely room, Mary."

"Thank you, Mama. We're very happy with the way it turned out." She smiled and said, "I find myself spending more and more time in here. It seems I lost track of the time tonight."

"Don't you feel well, my dear?"

"I'm fine. Truly." Mary rose slowly from the chair and walked towards her mother, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. "Are Granny and Isobel downstairs?"

"Yes. I'm afraid they've cornered Matthew in the sitting room."

"What is it about this time?"

"Oh, the usual. They're on opposite sides again. This time it's about Doctor Clarkson's plans to expand the hospital."

"Let me guess. Isobel is for it, and Granny is against it."

"Yes, and I fear poor Matthew's caught in the middle again."

"He'll sort it out. He always does."

"I'm sure." Cora paused, and her mouth worked pensively. "For someone not raised among our…our kind of people, he's managed quite well, hasn't he?"

"Mama!"

"What?"

"I can't believe you said that."

"Why? I seem to recall you said it once."

"Yes…but that was long ago, and I would think by now you, too, would be disabused of that notion. Matthew has more than proved his worth to the family and to the estate." Mary felt her anger rising and added sharply, "Besides, you weren't 'our kind of people' when you married Papa."

Cora, sensing Mary's ire, looked contrite and said, "Mary, I never meant to disparage Matthew's value to the family. It's just that your papa's untimely death forced him into a position for which he was not totally prepared. His devotion to the estate—and to you—is admirable, and already he has proved to be a splendid Earl."

Mary bit her lip and held her temper in check. She knew Matthew's worth and believed with all her heart there was no one more suited to the role of Earl than he. Where her papa had clung to traditions that became outmoded, her Matthew had foresight and flexibility that would ensure the estate's future. Mary understood her mama's loyalty to Robert's memory, but where her papa was satisfied with the status quo, she knew Matthew never would be.

* * *

When Mary and Cora arrived downstairs, they found Matthew still contending with the latest disagreement between Violet and Isobel. She saw how frustrated her husband appeared and repressed a smile. She knew playing referee to the two strong-willed women was not an easy task. As he looked from his mother to Violet and back again, he resembled a spectator at a tennis match although the volleys he followed were verbal ones and much more difficult to follow.

"Well, that's a ridiculous notion," snapped Isobel, responding to one of Violet's digs. "Adding the wing will ensure the facility will be able to serve the village more efficiently."

"It most certainly would not," retorted Isobel. "As it is, the hospital has more than enough beds. You make it sound as if the village were a hotbed of disease."

"I'm doing nothing of the sort. And if you had read the proposal thoroughly, you would know some of the space will be devoted to examination areas and emergency care." Isobel's sharp reply fairly echoed off the walls.

"So you propose spending money for facilities that would be used sparingly? As it is, Doctor Clarkson seems to have a great deal of time on his hands, judging by the number of visits he's made to the Dower House lately," smirked Violet. "I can't imagine having a new wing at the hospital will do anything to encourage him to remain there during the day."

Isobel sputtered and replied testily, "And just what are you implying?"

"I'm not _implying_ anything. I'm saying…"

"Ladies! Ladies!" interjected Matthew. "This bickering is not getting us anywhere. Can we please table this discussion until I have a chance to look over the actual proposal?"

Mary stepped up to the trio and took Matthew's arm. "Darling, Gleason just announced dinner."

Flashing Mary a relieved look, he said, "Thank you, darling." Turning to his mother and Violet, he added, "Ladies? Shall we?" With that he escorted Mary into the dining room, looking over his shoulder to be sure Isobel and Violet had not come to blows.

* * *

Settled in the drawing room after dinner, Mary and Matthew found themselves the focus of the three Crawley women's inquiries. United at last, Isobel and Violet joined with Cora to interrogate them about their previous day's visit with Doctor Ryder. Beset on all sides, the couple answered questions as patiently as they could, knowing it would do no good to withhold information.

"Mama," said Mary kindly, in response to her mother's question, "you know we are perfectly comfortable with my giving birth in hospital."

"I don't understand this newfangled notion," snipped Violet. "What's wrong with delivering in the comfort of your own home?"

"Violet, if there are…complications…it would be safer for Mary and the child to be where help is immediately available," said Matthew, his voice low and restrained.

"So, what does Doctor Ryder say about your health?" asked Isobel, flashing a scathing glance at Violet.

"He's still somewhat concerned about my blood pressure, but other than that, he says I'm progressing normally." She smoothed her frock over her midsection and added, "He says the occasional contractions I'm experiencing are nothing to be concerned about."

"He also said you still could stand to gain some weight," remarked Matthew, gently rubbing his fingers over her knuckles.

"What's his opinion of Doctor DeLee's theory about sedation?" asked Isobel.

"Who's this?" asked Cora

"He's the author of the obstetric textbook used most frequently these days." Isobel stated with certainty, "He's a firm believer in administering ether to the mother and using forceps to deliver the baby. He says medical interventions are necessary to save women from what he calls 'the evils that are natural to labor.' His theories are widely accepted and have been put into common practice."

Matthew took a sip of brandy and replied pensively, "Well, Doctor Ryder has made it clear he thinks Doctor DeLee's theories do more harm than good. He believes, for example, that administering ether to the mother can be detrimental both to her and to the child." He reddened, recalling the frank conversation with the doctor the previous day, "As far as he's concerned…ah…natural childbirth…is preferable to the methods DeLee espouses, unless, of course, there are complications."

"And you agree with Doctor Ryder?" asked Cora.

"I don't know enough about it, obviously, but what he says makes sense," replied Matthew. "Ultimately, it's Mary's decision, though. I wouldn't presume to interfere with what she chooses to do." He looked at Mary, who clasped his hand and smiled.

Isobel replied crossly, "But Doctor DeLee is a renowned expert, Matthew, and I think…"

Exasperated, Matthew rubbed his forehead and replied, "Mother, Doctor Ryder is an expert, as well, with every bit of the expertise Doctor DeLee has. Just because he doesn't agree with DeLee doesn't mean he's wrong."

Violet spoke up, clearly pleased that Isobel had yet another sparring partner. "Isobel, I know you fancy yourself an authority, but it seems to me we should leave the decision-making to Mary and Matthew since they're the ones directly affected. As usual, your fascination with these modern brainwaves is clouding your judgment."

Mary jumped into the fray before it escalated, saying, "I appreciate your concern, Isobel, but I trust Doctor Ryder implicitly. He has assured us he will do everything in his power to ensure a safe delivery," she looked pointedly at Violet, "including using modern techniques, if necessary." She stood unsteadily and said quickly, "Now, if you will excuse me a moment."

Matthew jumped to his feet, asking, "Mary? Are you all right?"

Mary placed her hand on his arm and smiled. "I'm fine. I'll be right back." She left the room, her footsteps clicking down the hallway.

The three remaining Crawley women looked at each other knowingly.

"Thank goodness for downstairs water closets," chortled Violet.

* * *

Mary rose from the bed and groped about for her dressing gown. The clock on Matthew's side of the bed read 3:22, and she groaned inwardly. Sleeping through the night seemed to have become a thing of the past. She couldn't find a comfortable position when she retired for the night, and even after falling asleep, she was awakened either from the child pressing on her bladder or her back aching because she had rolled onto her back. _Ridiculous_ she thought to herself as she donned her slippers and scurried into the en suite. Her task complete, she washed her hands and turned off the light. She walked back into the room and stood at Matthew's side of the bed, admiring his sleeping form. His handsome face was bathed in dappled moonlight, and she resisted the urge to smooth the disheveled hair that had fallen across his forehead.

 _There never has been a finer man_ , she thought to herself, her heart full, reflecting once again how, a little more than a year earlier, her life had veered from the path it had taken. Unconsciously, her hand covered her heart. Loving him always had been so easy, yet for years she had made herself miserable by allowing her head to overrule her heart. She never had permitted regret to take a foothold in her life, yet with the birth of their child approaching, she had to wonder how different the course of her life would have been if she hadn't fallen victim to the bad choices she had made in her youth. Now, she couldn't imagine life without him.

Her prior unhappiness had been self-inflicted for the most part—that she knew for certain—because she had possessed the power to be happy long ago and had failed to tap into it. She thanked God every day that Matthew's and her paths had crossed again at long last, for at one time she believed that loneliness was her lot in life. The child stirred, and her hand responded to the feeling automatically, soothing the life within her. The baby had been quite active of late, kicking and turning at all hours. She never failed to marvel at the sensation created by the movement of life in her body, and she almost woke Matthew when the outline of a little foot appeared pressing outward from beneath her skin. Thinking better of it, she decided to go downstairs for a glass of warm milk, hoping it would help her sleep.

Glass in hand, she headed back upstairs, but her attention was averted by a faint light shining from underneath the study door. Opening the door, she saw that the lamp on Matthew's side of the partners' desk had been left on. When she reached the desk, she began to straighten some documents on which Matthew obviously been working. Underneath the papers she saw what looked like a letter written in Matthew's hand and addressed to her. She sat in his chair and began to read—

 _ **My darling Mary,**_

 _ **You are so beautiful.**_

 _ **I know I say it to you nearly every day, but in case you haven't taken it to heart, please know this. Please feel it. You are so incredibly beautiful.**_

 _ **The journey of pregnancy, for both a woman and a man, is remarkable. It's beautiful, it's incredible, and it's the most amazing thing I've ever witnessed.**_

 _ **But it's been a difficult journey.**_

 _ **Your body has gone through so much during these last months, and watching you, loving you, wanting you has filled my soul.**_

 _ **This child will be the best of us, the epitome of what it means to love.**_

 _ **But I digress…**_

 _ **The point of this is you, now, the beautiful, beautiful pregnant woman who has made my life complete.**_

 _ **My God, you're the most beautiful being I have ever seen.**_

 _ **The way you are.**_

 _ **The way you look.**_

 _ **The way you make me feel.**_

 _ **The way you care for, nourish, and love that soul within you.**_

 _ **I say with absolute truth, Mary, you have never been more beautiful.**_

 _ **I love you.**_

 _ **Yours, always yours, Matthew**_

The child stirred again, and Mary wrapped her arms around herself, still grasping the letter in her hand. She sat, moved beyond words, brought to tears. _Oh, Matthew_ was her only conscious thought. She smoothed the crumpled letter and placed it back on the desk. Then she turned out the light and left the room, her glass of milk forgotten.

She slipped silently back into bed. Raised on her elbow, she smoothed Matthew's disheveled hair away from his forehead and then rolled over, nestling into him, her back to his front. Instinctively, his arm moved around her protectively as his lips found her shoulder. He moaned in his sleep and settled against her.

 _This…this,_ she thought, as she wiped the remnants of tears from her face. Matthew always had made her feel so loved and protected. She didn't need a letter to know the depth of his feelings, but his words meant everything. She sighed, closed her eyes, and burrowed further into him,

His arms tightened around her, and he whispered softly, "Are you all right, my love?"

"Yes, my darling. Oh, yes." she replied.

* * *

Matthew sat at his desk riffling through documents that Stuart had sent to the house. He had cancelled his meeting with Stuart that day in order to stay home with Mary because she had awoken that morning with a headache, and he was concerned about her pale appearance and obvious discomfort. She had assured him she would be fine, but he knew her well enough to sense that she was relieved he wasn't leaving. She sat sideways on the loveseat, propped against some pillows, a crocheted coverlet draping over her legs and a book resting on her swollen abdomen. A cup of tea sat on the table beside her, and as she reached over for the cup, a shawl slipped from around her shoulders, revealing her alabaster décolletage. Matthew's sudden intake of breath caused her to look at him and raise an eyebrow in feigned reproof.

"You are incorrigible, Mr. Crawley," she said with a chuckle.

"Only because of you, Mrs. Crawley," he replied with a grin.

She could make him laugh with just a lift of her eyebrow or the twitch of her mouth, and he fell victim to her charms once again, laughing and shaking his head. As much as he had desired her over the years, nothing had prepared him for the intensity of feeling she provoked in him now that they were together. He was hopelessly in love. There were moments when he looked at her that her beauty resulted in a tightness in his chest, and nothing would do but to take her in his arms and breathe in her essence.

He recalled the lines from Lord Byron:

 _And all that's best of dark and bright_

 _Meet in her aspect and her eyes—_

He knew how lucky he was. His residual guilt over his marriage to Lavinia had waned but occasionally he mourned the fact that he had spent years with the wrong woman, making both of them unhappy, as well as causing Mary to be exiled from her home and family. Looking back, he knew the seven years he spent away from Mary were the most miserable of his life, but one look from Mary was all it took to make him forget the pain and be grateful for his present joy.

"Matthew! Come here!"

He rushed to her side, and she grabbed his hand, placing it on her belly where he felt what was undoubtedly a tiny foot moving and kicking under Mary's skin.

"I felt it the other night and almost woke you. Isn't it amazing?" Mary's eyes were bright and brimming as Matthew looked at her in astonishment. He had felt the child's movements before, but he never had discerned an actual appendage.

"It's truly a miracle, isn't it? You know, Mary, I've been aware of pregnant women all my life, but I never knew just how magical it was. I mean, we've created this tiny human who didn't exist until we made love. I'll never forget this, just as I'll never be able to thank you enough for this gift."

"But don't you see, Matthew? I didn't exist before you. Now I can't imagine my life without you. This child is a gift for both of us."

The baby kicked again, causing both of them to laugh.

"Evidently, he or she is not going to let us forget it, either," chuckled Matthew.

"Speaking of which, don't you think it's time we decided on a name?" asked Mary.

Matthew groaned, for choosing a name caused the same sort of dispute as choosing nursery colors. They agreed not to use family names although Matthew had to argue mightily against Mary's wish to name a son after him. Mary had to remind him she felt the same way about naming a daughter after her.

" _He should have his own name, his own identity. Obviously, he'll be a Crawley through and through, so our surname is enough. Besides, as much as I adored my father, I've never liked being saddled with 'Reginald' as my middle name."_

" _Very well, darling, but what's good for the goose is good for the gander. I can't imagine that our daughter would like sharing her name with me. Girls are funny that way."_

Mary rose, gathered pen and paper from her side of the desk, and returned to the loveseat, ready to write down their choices. They spent the following thirty minutes throwing out names, only to bat them away one by one.

" _David_ ," said Mary.

"No."

" _Estelle_ ," said Matthew.

"Never."

" _Peter_."

"Not likely."

" _Margaret_."

"No."

"Why not, Mary?"

"Because I don't like it particularly."

"Fine."

" _George_."

"Hmmm. A possibility," said Matthew.

"Why?"

"Well, one of my favorite Romantic poets is Lord Byron. _George_ is a good, solid name."

"Let's put it on the top of the list, then," said Mary, writing it down and sensing a breakthrough. "Besides, we've had several encounters, both direct and indirect, with _Georges_ over the past several months. Perhaps that's a sign," said Mary, thinking of the Asprey's clerk and Clemenceau.

"That's right! The Fourth Baron Harris is named George!"

"Who?"

"Lady Lucy's husband! The cricketer!"

Mary rolled her eyes and said, "Your turn."

" _Shirley_."

"You're joking. Be serious, Matthew."

"All right, then. _Elizabeth_ ," laughed Matthew.

"I always have liked the name _Elizabeth_."

"Good. Put it down."

"You don't want to discuss it further?" asked Mary.

"No. _Elizabeth Crawley_ is a beautiful name. I like it very much."

Mary smiled and wrote _Elizabeth_ on her paper underneath _George_ , pleased that there had been another breakthrough.

" _Alexander_ , as a middle name," said Mary.

"Hey, _George Alexander Crawley_. I like that," said Matthew.

"Do you really?" asked Mary. "I must admit I do, too."

They looked at each other and smiled. Mary added _Alexander Crawley_ after _George_ and showed the paper to Matthew, who beamed.

"That's it, then?" asked Matthew. "Our son will be named George Alexander Crawley."

"Excellent choice, but let's not forget I might be carrying a girl. Elizabeth needs a middle name."

"Ah, she does indeed." He paused for a moment. "How about _Rose_?"

"Really? However did you come up with that?"

"Oh, I don't know. It makes me think of our wedding flowers and the Riviera and beautiful things in general. I'd like to think she will be as beautiful as you." He grinned slyly and added, "And it certainly would make gift-giving easy on her papa."

Mary wrote the name and handed the paper to Matthew. "There you have it. Our daughter will be named Elizabeth Rose Crawley. It's a lovely name, Matthew."

"Indeed it is. _Lizzie Rose_. Perfect."

"Not on your life," Mary retorted, snatching the paper from his hand.

* * *

"That's a becoming frock," said Matthew, eyeing his wife with admiration. He and Mary were dressed for luncheon at Grantham House, to be followed by a tour with Doctor Ryder of the private suite at St. Mary's Hospital where their child would be born. Although he looked forward to seeing the suite, anticipating the luncheon filled him with mixed emotions. He knew Mary was looking forward to getting out of the house for the afternoon, but he was hopeful the three Crawley women would not converge on Mary and him too enthusiastically.

"Do you think so? I feel rather like a blue blob." She looked at herself critically in the mirror. Coco had designed the lightweight crêpe Georgette dress specifically for the last months of Mary's pregnancy, the draping folds allowing for Mary's expanding midsection. It was her favorite from among the dozen or so Coco had sent to her.

Matthew stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her, his hands resting beneath her belly. "You're as beautiful as ever, my love, and this color looks marvelous on you."

"Thank you, darl…ooooh!" Mary grunted and clutched her stomach.

"What is it, Mary? What's wrong?"

Mary took a breath and relaxed against him. "It's nothing. Just a cramp. It's stopped now."

"Should I be worried?"

"Of course not. Remember, Doctor Ryder said these twinges are perfectly normal."

"That seemed like more than a twinge. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Absolutely sure, Matthew. I still have a month before you need to overreact."

"Is that what I'm doing? You wound me, madam."

"And I love you for it." She turned and kissed his cheek. "Now, let's go. You know how grumpy Granny gets if we're late."

* * *

Matthew watched attentively as Mary parried questions from Isobel, Cora, and Violet. He felt rather like a fish out of water at times as the women discussed the intricacies of pregnancy—weight gain, contractions, pelvic aches, cravings—and blushed often as the women chatted about subjects he believed were more suited to strictly a distaff audience.

When Mary mentioned that she and Matthew were touring St. Mary's Hospital after luncheon, the women shifted their focus to the upcoming birth. Isobel extolled St. Mary's excellent reputation, while Cora and Violet expressed their doubts about the advantages of a hospital birth.

"We'll be in a private suite, Mama, surrounded by caregivers," said Mary. "I hardly think it's going to be less safe, or less comfortable, for that matter, than giving birth at home. Besides, Matthew will ensure the baby and I will have everything we need. Having him there will be such a comfort." She looked over at him and returned his smile.

"Just because Matthew will be able to visit doesn't mean…"

"Not _visit_ , Granny. _Stay_. I want Matthew to be with me the entire time."

Isobel's eyebrows shot up. "Surely, you don't mean…?"

"Yes, Isobel," replied Mary. "I'm going to ask Doctor Ryder if Matthew can be present for the birth."

A chorus of voices rang through the dining room, and Matthew clasped Mary's hand under the table as she stood her ground.

Cora paled noticeably and said, "That's highly improper."

Scowling at her son, Isobel sputtered and exclaimed, "Matthew!"

Violet pursed her lips and uttered, "Why am I not surprised?"

Mary straightened in her chair and spoke determinedly. "This is _our_ decision, and I see nothing wrong with his being there. Besides, I _want_ him there."

Frowning at Mary, Isobel said, "Mary, I don't think you realize what you're asking for. A delivery room is no place for a husband. Childbirth most often is a long, painful process, and his being there will do nothing to help you. In fact, he might be a detriment."

Matthew said quickly, "Mother, I appreciate what you're saying, but supporting Mary and watching our child being born, well, that would mean everything to me. She wants me there, and I want to be there."

Wide-eyed, Cora turned to Mary and said tersely, "Mary, there just are some things that aren't meant for husbands and wives to share." She looked at Violet pleadingly and said, "Mama, don't you agree?"

The group turned to Violet and watched as she took a sip of water before speaking. "Actually, I don't."

"Of course, you don't," mumbled Isobel.

Violet sniffed and continued, "I can't pretend to understand your modern way of thinking, Mary, but it seems to me since Matthew was there for the conception, it's only right that he be present for the birth."

"Oh, Mama," moaned Cora, her head in her hands.

"Egad," Matthew said under his breath.

"Thank you, Granny," said Mary gratefully.

"Well, that tears it," sighed Isobel. "Now I've heard everything."

* * *

It was like riding the crest of a wave. Mary got back into bed and lay clammy and panting, staring at Matthew as he slept, waiting for him to wake up. She didn't want to look at the time, but she couldn't help it. Five fifteen. She grimaced and covered her mouth with her arm to muffle her whimper.

She could not stifle her fear.

The baby was not due for four more weeks.

When she had risen for her nightly visit to the toilet, she felt liquid trickle down her legs, and in her groggy state, thought at first she had lost control of her bladder. She quickly discovered that wasn't the case when she saw the bloody mucous and felt as if a band were wrapped around her belly, squeezing and tightening, causing waves of pain to flow over her.

It was much more painful than she had imagined it would be.

When Matthew awoke, she lay still for a while without saying anything.

After taking a good look at her, Matthew leapt from the bed and asked, "Is this it?"

"I don't know," she replied. "I think so," she said, laughing at the truth of it.

* * *

By the time they reached St. Mary's, she wanted to crawl out of her skin. Despite having been warned about what to expect, the intense pain surprised her, but she nodded resolutely when Doctor Ryder told her it might be hours before the child arrived.

Settled into her suite, she tried to relax against the pillows that lined the headboard. Matthew took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

"My brave girl," he whispered.

"I can't believe Sybil has done this three times and Edith twice. I should have listened more carefully when they described the process."

"How can I help?" asked Matthew, his face lined with concern.

Mary laughed and replied, "I think you've done quite enough, thank you."

Matthew shook his head as his chin dropped to his chest. "Don't I know it," he said. He looked up at her. "Do you mind too much that Doctor Ryder won't allow me to be here for the delivery?"

"Of course, I mind, but his reasons seem sound. I'll just have to be content with your staying with me as long as he lets you."

He kissed her knuckles again, finally raising her hand to his cheek.

Mary's eyes glistened as her hand moved through his hair. "Matthew, don't worry. I'm going to be fine."

"I'm not worried," he replied defensively.

"You are, but that's all right. It's natural, I think, and to be honest, my feelings would be hurt if you weren't… _ow, ow!"_ She leaned forward, trying to breathe into the contraction, her eyes squeezing shut.

Matthew massaged her back and talked to her softly, trying to comfort her, helping her through the pain, his careful eyes watching her expression. Seeing Mary suffer so dreadfully put him on edge, despite knowing the end result would produce the child they both loved desperately. There were so many things that could go wrong.

Mary fell back against the pillows as the contraction waned and smiled wanly. "That hurt."

Matthew swallowed back the terror he felt when he noticed the tremor in her left arm.

* * *

Hours crept by, daylight eventually replaced with dim lamplight that caused shadows to dance around the room. Mary's contractions had increased in intensity and were relentless, but they were not coming steadily. Matthew stayed resolutely by her side, wincing as she arched her back with each one in an attempt to escape the pain. He kept a cool cloth at the ready, wiping her brow as she writhed, and held her hand, enduring her surprisingly strong grip.

Cora, Violet, and Isobel had come and gone, finally banished to a waiting area after witnessing a particularly profane Mary struggle and cry out as her lower back slowly began to seize up, which resulted in an intense, searing pain.

Doctor Ryder's visits became more frequent, his kind expression masking his concern, for his patient was exhibiting signs of distress, and he feared he might have to intervene if Mary's labor failed to progress. While a nurse helped Mary use the bedpan, he motioned for Matthew to follow him outside into the hallway.

Matthew's blood ran cold as he watched the doctor's expression change. "What is it?"

"I'm concerned that she's not progressing as she should, and her blood pressure has continued to elevate. I'm afraid we may have to intercede."

"What does that mean?"

"Take the child surgically. She hasn't reached that point yet, but you need to know it's a possibility."

"Oh, God."

"Don't panic. Remember, we talked about how this might be possible. Her early labor, coupled with her elevated blood pressure, likely is the result of her poisoning." He looked back towards Mary's door. "No doubt you've noticed her tremor has returned."

"Yes, I've noticed."

"Well, that's a sign I cannot ignore. She's been in labor for almost twenty hours. If there's no change within the next hour, we'll have to make a decision. I'm sorry I don't have better news, Lord Grantham, but rest assured I'll do all in my power to ensure a safe delivery. Lady Grantham has shown a great deal of strength and resilience so far..."

Suddenly, the door to Mary's room opened, and the nurse appeared.

"Doctor, could you come here, please? Lord Grantham, you, too."

When they entered the room, a breathless and fatigued Mary was in the throes of what appeared to be yet another intense contraction. Doctor Ryder spoke quietly with the nurse while Matthew sat at Mary's side and pried her fingers from the sheets, taking her hand in his. When the pain finally eased, she looked at him and panted, "I'm not so beautiful now, am I?"

"What?" Matthew wondered if she might be hallucinating.

"The letter. I read the letter," she said through clenched teeth.

It took him a moment to realize what she meant. "I wasn't ready for you to read that just yet." He chuckled in spite of the situation. He wiped away the damp hair that was clinging to her face and kissed her gently. "My darling, you're still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"Liar!" she replied, grasping the back of his neck and pulling him down for another kiss.

"If I may interrupt," said Doctor Ryder, "the nurse seems to think delivery is imminent, so if I may…" He did a quick check and nodded to the nurse. "Lady Grantham, it's time to meet your child."

"Thank God," Matthew uttered. Try as he might, he could not stem the tears trailing down his face.

Mary looked from Matthew to the doctor as the onset of another contraction began. "Doctor, please!" she hissed as she grabbed Matthew's hand.

"Oh, very well. It seems pointless to send him away now, everything considered." He looked sternly at Matthew, who was mopping his face with a handkerchief. "But I must insist you not interfere—encourage her, hold her hand, wipe her brow—but if you get in the way, I'll send you out. Do you understand?"

Matthew nodded gravely. He was about to become a father; he would do nothing that would cause him to miss the miracle of his child's birth.

* * *

Her insides slowly contorted harder and harder—twisting, pulling, constricting.

"Matthew?"

"I'm here, my love."

"Breathe!"

She was caught in the undertow of a wave.

"Breathe!"

She broke down in tears, crying, "I can't do this anymore."

"You can."

She wanted to escape her own body.

Time had no meaning.

The sobbing.

"Matthew!"

The blood.

The fear.

"Breathe, my darling!"

The chaos.

The agony.

"Push, Lady Grantham."

"Matthew?"

"Push, Mary!"

Everything was a blur.

The stinging sensation became almost unbearable, and then it slowly subsided.

Matthew stood transfixed.

Luminous brown eyes met crystal blue.

A cry rang out.

Fireworks exploded in Matthew's chest.

"I love you so very much," crooned Matthew to the loves of his life.

Matthew placed a bundle in Mary's arms.

"Hello, my darling George," whispered Mary.

She closed her eyes in relief.

"Mary? Mary!"


	50. Chapter 50

Blood.

There was so much blood.

The moment of joy he experienced when he handed his son— _his son!_ —to Mary turned to abject horror when he saw her arms slacken and her eyes close. As he picked up the wriggling bundle, he heard Doctor Ryder bark a series of unintelligible orders at the nurse, and when Matthew looked towards him, he saw a flurry of activity at the foot of the bed. Looking down at Mary, he flashed at the memory of one of his wartime comrades, the victim of a horrendous belly wound, who had bled to death on the cold, hard battlefield at Amiens.

There had been so much blood then, too.

" _Hello, my darling George,"_ she had whispered before slipping into unconsciousness.

" _George."_

" _My darling."_

" _Hello."_

He was rushed from the room in a haze of confusion, clutching their son to his chest, relegated to the cold, sterile hallway, locked away from the woman who had given him the greatest gift of his life. He was aware of muffled instructions emanating from the room from which he had been ejected, but he could not distinguish what was being said. He stood at the door, trying desperately to understand what was happening, and when the door opened, a nurse nearly bowled him over in her rush to leave the room.

"Please, sir, move away from the door."

"But…but…"

"We're doing all we can. Please, sir, the doctor will be with you as soon as your wife is stable."

He peered around her, trying to catch a glimpse of Mary.

Blood.

All he could see was the blood.

And smell it, the scent triggering yet more battlefield memories.

He moved to the wall opposite the door and stood there, cradling his son, praying to God, staring almost shell shocked at the turn of events.

" _Hello, my darling George,"_ echoed in his head, the memory of that moment still vivid.

Nurses came and went, the door to Mary's room opening and closing repeatedly. He was able to catch fleeting glimpses of Doctor Ryder working feverishly, and it appeared to Matthew that the doctor was spending a great deal of time bent over Mary's body performing some kind of massage on her lower torso. Matthew was startled when a nurse raced past him, carrying bottles of what appeared to be blood, and just as Matthew was about to call out to her for something, _anything,_ in the way of news, the door closed, and he was left alone in the hallway once again.

Something stirred against his chest, and gradually he became aware of quiet, sporadic cries in the air around him. He looked down at the pink-faced bundle in his arms, and realized to his dismay that the cries he thought were coming from his son actually were his own. They were whimpers, really, caused by lack of breath and shock so deep-seated, it threatened to incapacitate him. As he stood unmoving, holding George protectively, he felt the presence of someone next to him, and he heard a gentle voice call his name.

"Lord Grantham?"

No response.

"Sir?"

He turned towards the voice, unsure if he had the ability to speak. "Wh…what is it?"

"Sir, may I take the baby?"

Matthew looked questioningly at the woman standing in front of him. A nurse. With kind eyes and a wan smile.

"Please, sir. We haven't had a chance to clean him properly or perform an assessment."

"What?" Matthew whispered as he looked down at his son. He could see the residue from his birth that remained around George's perfectly-formed ears and in the downy tufts of his hair.

The nurse held out her hands and smiled. "He's a beautiful baby, isn't he? Please, sir. I promise, I'll take good care of him."

"His name is George…George Alexander Crawley," Matthew said in a whisper.

"I promise to take good care of young Master George," assured the nurse. "We'll make short work of his examination, sir."

Reluctantly, Matthew placed George in the nurse's arms after pressing his lips gently against the infant's forehead. He watched as the nurse hurried down the hallway and disappeared behind a swinging door. With nothing in his arms, he stood still once again, his arms at his sides, his brain seemingly wrapped in a cotton fog.

All he could think was that nothing could happen to Mary, for she filled him with light and joyfulness, a barrier against any sort of darkness that sought him out. He was consumed by his love for her, and if her life were extinguished, he knew he would cease to exist.

* * *

Having been banished from Mary's room, Isobel and Cora sat stoically on a well-worn settee in the dimly-lit waiting area located around a corner at the opposite end of the hallway. Violet occupied an armless upholstered chair that also had seen better days. Leaning forward on her cane, she looked towards the door, doing little to disguise her impatience. The three women knew from what little they'd witnessed that Mary was having a hard time of it, and the fact that no one had been in to update them grated on all their nerves.

They shared the space with a young, profusely-perspiring expectant father, who appeared to be nearing the end of his rope. They smiled in spite of themselves watching him pace, wipe his brow, and pace some more. He had given terse, one-word responses to their enquiries, his mind obviously distracted with his impending fatherhood, and the three women looked at each other in amusement as he continued to stir around the small room. Just as Isobel attempted once again to engage him in conversation, the door opened to reveal a nurse who called for "Mr. Abbott," causing him to whirl about. "Follow me, please," she said, and like a shot, he exited the room.

"It's after midnight. I do wish we'd hear something," said Cora nervously, settling back against the settee. "It was obvious that Mary isn't having an easy time."

Isobel nodded. "It _was_ obvious, that's true, but Matthew would let us know if things were not progressing properly."

"I thought Matthew was remarkably well composed," stated Violet, "but if you think he'd leave her to give us updates, you don't know him as well as you think you do."

"But once she's ready to deliver, surely he'll wait in here with us," said Cora.

Isobel stood and announced, "Not necessarily. In fact, I think I'll go down to her room and see what I can find out."

"Help me up," snapped Violet. "I'm going with you."

"So am I," added Cora resolutely, moving quickly to take Violet's arm.

Isobel and Cora walked on either side of Violet, holding her arms firmly. The three women marched determinedly down the hallway only to stop dead in their tracks when they turned the corner and saw Matthew squatting on the floor, his back against the wall and his head in his hands.

Isobel rushed ahead and knelt beside him. She placed her hand on his shoulder and asked cautiously, "Matthew, what has happened?"

Matthew looked up at his mother just as Violet and Cora arrived, and he stood slowly, helping Isobel to rise, as well. His pale face and vacant eyes told the women almost all they needed to know.

Mary was in trouble, and Matthew felt powerless.

Spying a bench down the hallway, Isobel took Matthew's arm and led him to it, making him sit once they reached it.

She sat beside him and took his hand in hers. "Tell me, Matthew," she said firmly, brooking no argument.

Matthew slumped against the back of the bench, his head resting against the wall behind him. "We have a son," he said brokenly, the tone of his voice at odds with the joyous announcement.

Cora's hand covered her mouth, muffling her "Oh!"

Violet stood stoically, waiting to hear more.

Isobel watched as her son's face crumpled. Squeezing his hand, she asked softly, repeating her earlier question, "So, what has happened? Is Mary…?" She couldn't bring herself to say the words.

In a reply so soft, the women had to strain to hear, Matthew said, "I don't know, Mother."

"And the baby?" asked Cora.

Matthew sat forward and looked around. "A nurse took him away." He looked confused and added, "I'm not sure where."

"He's right here," said a gentle voice. "Your little man has checked out perfectly, Lord Grantham." The nurse stepped in front of Matthew and placed the tiny bundle in his arms. Before she left the group, she added, "He's a tad bit small, but he's a healthy, beautiful baby, sir."

Matthew sat silently, looking down at the sleeping piece of his heart in his arms. He knew he'd never be able to take a full breath until he could share this kind of moment with Mary. As much as he loved his son—and he knew without a doubt he did—being without Mary left a void in his heart only she could fill.

Isobel pushed the edge of the blanket away, revealing a face so reminiscent of her son's as an infant she couldn't help but beam. "Oh, my," she said softly, "he truly is a beautiful child."

"May I?" asked Cora timidly, reaching out her hands.

Matthew stood and gingerly placed his son in Cora's arms. The baby stirred and settled, causing Cora to emit an audible sigh. "Oh, Matthew, he's perfect," she whispered.

"A fine boy," said Violet tremulously, not attempting to hide her emotional response as she leaned in to get a closer look at her great-grandson. "So, have you and Mary settled on the name _George Alexander_?" When Matthew nodded, she responded, "As far as I know, he's the first _George_ in the Crawley family." She reached into the blanket and ran one wrinkled finger down George's tiny cheek, saying in a low voice, "I'd say he'll set the bar for future generations."

Blinking back tears, Isobel sniffed and stepped in front of Matthew. "Now, dear, it was obvious Mary was having a hard time, so what did Doctor Ryder say? What can I do to help?"

Running his hands over his face, Matthew looked at the three women whose love for Mary almost equaled his own. "I know you have questions, but I don't know what happened." He took a breath and continued. "Mary was in so much pain, but once George arrived, she seemed—I don't know—all right…tired, of course, but all right. Then, one minute she was holding George, and the next she was unconscious…and bleeding…and…and…Doctor Ryder sent me from the room. I wish I knew more, but…." He pinched the bridge of his nose and said quietly, "Forgive me for casting a gloom. It's just that…"

"Excuse me, Lord Grantham. May I have a word?"

Matthew whirled around and was momentarily struck dumb at the sight before him. Doctor Ryder obviously had donned a new white coat, but his disheveled hair and haggard face were evidence of the ordeal he just had experienced. Matthew glanced down at the floor and noticed the doctor's blood-spattered shoes and trouser legs. For a moment his mind reeled, and the doctor took his arm.

"Steady there, Lord Grantham." He motioned to a door marked "Private" across the hall. "Please, come with me so we can speak privately."

Matthew gestured towards the women who stood at his side, saying, "They're coming with me." When the doctor seemed ready to protest, Matthew said forcefully, "They're Mary's family—and my family—and I need them with me." He turned to Cora, took George from her arms, and walked to the door. He looked resolutely at Violet and said, "As my grandmother so often reminds me, doctor, we Crawleys stick together." He opened the door and waited as the doctor and the three women walked into the small room. He closed the door, looked down at his son, and faced the doctor, who stood quietly as the group gathered around him.

Matthew introduced Isobel, Cora, and Violet, took a deep breath, and said, "Now, tell me."

The doctor, sensing the determination and concern from the four figures in front of him, sighed and said, "Very well. First, Lady Grantham is alive—her condition, however, is quite serious…"

A look of panic crossed his face, and Matthew could not stop himself from interrupting. "I have to see her!"

"Please, Lord Grantham, she's asleep, and the nurses are in the process of making her as comfortable as possible. Give them time to…to…bathe her and replace the linens. I assure you, you'll be able to see her soon."

Matthew's consternation was clear. Being kept away from Mary was the last thing he wanted.

"Let him continue, my dear," said Isobel. Speaking to the doctor, she said, "Please carry on, Doctor Ryder. I assume from what Matthew has told us that Mary had an issue with excessive bleeding?"

The doctor nodded. "That's correct. Normally, when the placenta is delivered after the birth, the womb should contract strongly to shut off the blood vessels where it was attached. Lady Grantham experienced what we call _uterine atony_ , which means her womb did not contract properly. This caused a serious hemorrhage, which, unfortunately, caused her to exhibit signs of hemorrhagic shock."

Matthew felt his chest constrict as Cora began to cry out piteously, "No! No! No!" Violet reached for Isobel's arm and slowly sat on a wooden chair situated next to a small round table.

"Frankly, Lord Grantham, your wife was on the verge of bleeding to death. Had I not begun uterine massage and ordered blood transfusions, we would have lost her."

 _Lost her? It wasn't possible._

Isobel led Matthew to a chair and had him sit down. He continued to cradle George in his arms, thankful that Isobel knew to ask the kinds of questions he didn't know or couldn't bear to pose. She turned to the doctor and asked, "Was this the result of her poisoning, or was there some other cause? I assume she wasn't anemic, or you would have been administering iron during the pregnancy." Sensing the doctor's confusion about her apparent expertise, she added, "I was trained as a nurse. I've seen this kind of thing before."

"I see. Well, no doubt the poisoning was a major factor. It weakened her system and the resulting back pain and high blood pressure contributed to the atony, as did her long, active labor."

"So, what is the long-term prognosis? Do you suspect kidney damage? How is her cognition?"

Doctor Ryder smiled at Isobel's earnestness. "I suspect there will be no long-lasting effects, considering we were able to control the hemorrhage so quickly. She's stable for now but has not regained consciousness, which comes as no surprise considering the trauma. Obviously, I haven't had a chance to speak with her to determine any adverse cognitive effects, but I'm optimistic."

Isobel rubbed Matthew's back, saying, "That _is_ good news. The best news, actually, considering the situation."

Matthew looked from his mother to the doctor. Until he was able to see Mary for himself, the doctor's words offered little in the way of comfort. When George stirred in his arms and emitted a small cry, Matthew attempted to reposition the little hand that had managed to escape the blanket's confines. He stared in amazement as George grasped his finger, seemingly holding on for dear life. It was hard to reconcile that the tiny being in his arms had resided in his mother's womb only hours before. His son's birth had been mesmerizing, the experience being something he'd never forget. Now he had to see his wife in order to make the dream a reality. He stood, handed George carefully to Isobel, and said to the doctor, "Take me to my wife."

* * *

The filmy white curtains washed Mary's room in soft, filtered light, the room's pleasantness standing in stark contrast to Matthew's exhaustion. He had spent a harrowing morning at Mary's bedside, the steady rise and fall of her chest the only indication the love of his life was alive, if not exactly well.

At his insistence, Violet, Isobel, and Cora had left the hospital with Sarah to return to Grantham House to rest. They had been hovering at Mary's bedside—the room was too small to accommodate more than two chairs—so when Sarah appeared in the doorway in response to Matthew's call, he breathed a sigh of relief when she insisted that the women accompany her. Cora's sighing, Isobel's fussing, and Violet's clucking had played upon his nerves, so the quiet that resulted from their leaving was more than welcome.

Now alone with Mary, he sank into a chair beside her bed and grasped her hand. That she had yet to regain consciousness kept him on edge, and he found himself more often than not imploring her to wake up.

He drank in the sight of her.

Her face was pale, made more so because of the contrast with her dark hair and brows, and he stood to press his lips to her forehead, relieved to feel that it was cool and dry. His heart pounded against his chest as he recalled her struggle to give birth to their child and the bloody aftermath. He closed his eyes. He knew he had to be strong for her, but he also knew he needed her strength now more than ever. He sat back down in the chair and spoke to her as if she might answer, keeping his voice low, trying desperately to keep his tears at bay. Holding her hand in his, Matthew continued to tell her about their son—

"… _and although he's rather small, the nurses tell me he's the picture of health. I'm sorry to say he seems to resemble me—light hair and blue eyes although Mother says all babies have blue eyes, so who knows? Anyway, he's perfect, my love, with ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes, and—oh, Mary!—he's perfect, just perfect. Did I mention he grabbed my finger? Such a grip! He's sleeping now, Mary, just waiting for you to wake up and take him in your arms. He's such a dear little chap and brings such joy with him. Oh, please, Mary, please wake up. He needs you; I need you. Oh, please…."_

* * *

 _Mary found herself in her red bedroom at Downton, dressed for dinner in a white frock that seemed better suited to a wedding than a formal meal. Her hands went immediately to her belly, and she found that the bump had disappeared. "Oh, George is here," she thought to herself as she eyed her reflection in the dressing table mirror. She thought it odd that she hadn't heard the gong, yet somehow she knew she was expected downstairs. The door to the hallway opened, and she could hear a muffled din of voices and noises and music as she moved slowly into the passageway that was seemingly longer than she remembered. As she walked tentatively towards the staircase, she passed portraits with blurred images that smiled down on her, and in the distance, she could see the upper balustrade before which stood someone who appeared to be waving to her. She squinted, but the figure was indistinct until, finally, she was able to discern Robert's smiling face. She picked up the hem of her dress and ran and ran towards him—_

 _She fell into his arms. "Oh, Papa! You're here!"_

" _Where else would I be, child?"_

 _She stepped away, and confusion washed over her. "I don't know…I'm just so glad to see you. Are you here to see George?"_

 _A blanketed bundle appeared in her arms, a face hidden in the fabric's soft folds._

" _I've already seen him. He's quite amazing, isn't he? The others are, too."_

" _Others? Papa, I haven't met any of them yet. Can you help me?"_

" _That's Matthew's job now, Mary. He's waiting for you." She felt the warmth of his lips on her cheek. "Go now. See to your son."_

 _Her arms suddenly empty, she walked to the balustrade and looked down on the great room below. "But where is he, Papa?"_

" _He's with Matthew. They're waiting for you."_

" _Aren't you coming?" Receiving no answer, she turned and realized she was alone at the top of the stairs. "Papa?" Her chest constricting with emotion, she whirled about. "Papa!"_

 _A familiar voice called from below. "Mary? Please, Mary. We're waiting."_

" _I'm coming!" Somehow she was floating down the stairs, her dress billowing about her. The sound of a soft cry echoed in the air, and when she reached the bottom of the staircase, she realized she was outside on the grounds, the house glimmering in the distance._

" _Where are you?" she whispered. She began walking towards the house, but no matter how quickly she walked, the house remained on the horizon. She stopped, looked around, and realized a gentleman was approaching from her right. He looked vaguely familiar, and when he stopped before her and tipped his hat, she felt as if she should know his name._

" _Good afternoon, my dear. You're looking well." A small black bag suddenly appeared in his left hand. "I understand you're looking for Matthew. Is there anything I can do to help?"_

 _She shook her head and murmured, "I don't think so." She looked into his clear blue eyes and held up the blanketed bundle that had reappeared in her arms, asking, "Have you seen George?"_

 _He smiled benignantly. "I have indeed. He's the picture of health—a little small, perhaps, but quite perfect, as are the others."_

 _Once again, she heard the soft cry and someone calling her name, so she turned away from the gentleman for a moment, and when she turned back around, he was gone and her arms were empty._

 _A soft breeze blew across her face, and she closed her eyes for a moment. Looking down, she realized she now was wearing a shimmering turquoise gown embellished with gold accents. Her hand went to her neck; she expected to feel the aquamarine necklace Matthew had given her on their wedding day, but the one she touched was composed of three drops instead of two. "I like it so much better this way," she thought to herself. She noticed that the Lebanon cedar materialized several metres away, and she began to walk towards it. Once she reached the tree, she sat on the bench and waited—for what she wasn't sure, but she knew her place was there. The soft cry was replaced with a soaring tune that filled her with a kind of feathery warmth and dappled sunlight washed over the bench causing fragments of light to dance over her as the branches shifted and swayed in the breeze. She suddenly felt a presence sitting next to her, and she realized she was staring at Matthew's back._

" _Matthew, where's George?" she asked hesitantly, placing her hand on his shoulder._

" _Right here, of course," he replied, turning to show her a small, laughing infant resting in his arms and wrapped in a pale blue blanket._

" _Papa and the gentleman said he is very strong."_

" _That he is," replied Matthew, his clear blue eyes flashing with mirth. "It's time we went home. Come." He stood and began walking towards the house._

 _Mary was frozen in place, unable to rise._

 _Matthew stopped, turned, and motioned her to follow. "Mary, come. Please. We need you."_

 _On either side of her, she felt strong hands grasping her elbows and helping her to her feet. The tune, which had faded slightly, increased in volume, and she felt herself being pulled in Matthew's direction._

" _I'm coming, Matthew. Wait for me."_

" _Always."_

* * *

When she opened her eyes, the first thing Mary saw was Matthew's gaunt, yet beautiful, face. She smiled at him weakly, and his throat tightened. For a moment he was unable to speak.

"I love you," he said, his voice broken with emotion. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle her. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers one-by-one.

"I love you, too," she replied softly. "So much…so much."

"I should get Doctor Ryder to let him…"

She placed her hand on his forearm and pleaded, "Not yet, please, just tell me about George." She looked around the room, and a look of concern crossed her face. "Where is he?"

"In the hospital nursery. Don't worry. He's fine—more than fine, actually."

"So no ill effects from…from…the poisoning?"

"Not that the doctor can see. He says George is the picture of health." Matthew chuckled, "The last time I checked on him, he was squalling and exhibiting a bit of temper." His smile was replaced with a look that Mary knew signaled great emotion, and he said, "Next to you, he's the most beautiful creature I've ever seen."

She reached up, brought his face to hers, and kissed him.

"So…what happened? The last thing I remember is holding George. Did I faint?"

"Doctor Ryder will be able to explain things better than I can, but suffice to say you gave us quite a scare, my love. You began to hemorrhage…and…and were unconscious for hours." Matthew lost his voice, and his eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Mary, I was so afraid."

Mary caressed his cheek and said, "For hours? I'm all right now, aren't I?"

Matthew sniffed and smiled. "Yes, thank God. Being in the hospital saved your life, something your mama, Mother, and Cousin Violet grudgingly admitted to me earlier this morning."

"No doubt that was an interesting conversation."

"It was indeed. Violet said something to the effect that it was fortuitous Doctor Ryder was present when George was born, and I reminded her having access to transfusion equipment was what saved your life."

"Transfusion equipment?" Mary looked down at her arm, which was heavily bandaged, and then looked back at Matthew in amazement. "I needed a transfusion?"

"You did."

"Exactly how long was I unconscious?"

"Well, George arrived about one o'clock this morning," he looked at his pocket watch, "and it's now ten o'clock, so…"

"Golly, no wonder I'm so groggy. Oh, my darling! You must be exhausted!"

"Seeing you awake and well has revived me. I can rest any time."

"Can you help me sit up?"

Matthew frowned. "Do you think that's wise? Shouldn't you wait until Doctor Ryder gets here?"

"Matthew, I don't want to try to hold our son while lying down."

Just as Matthew was supporting her back and arranging her pillows, a nurse entered and exclaimed, "My goodness, Lady Grantham, you're awake!"

Mary smiled wryly and said, "So it seems."

"Here, let me assist you," said the nurse, rushing to Mary's bedside. She made quick work of helping Mary get situated.

"I'd like to see my son," said Mary. "Would you fetch him from the nursery?"

"Of course. Right away," the nurse replied, "and I'll let Doctor Ryder know you're awake."

Mary looked over at Matthew, who was staring at her in surprise.

"What?" she asked.

"I'm just amazed that you seem to feel so strong."

"Don't be deceived, Matthew. "I feel as if I've been put through a wringer. I'm afraid I'm going to be a burden for a while."

"You never could be a burden, Mary. Our son and I need you strong and healthy, so you can be sure I'll see to it you're well taken care of."

* * *

Matthew couldn't remember feeling more elated. After Doctor Ryder pronounced Mary as fit as she could be after such an ordeal, a nursery attendant brought in their "little prince," the moniker bestowed on George by the nurses who were responsible for his care. Doctor Ryder had warned them that it wasn't uncommon for women to struggle with breastfeeding after blood loss, so the attendant expressed surprise when George latched onto Mary's nipple and began feeding successfully.

It was the most wondrous thing Matthew had ever seen. He'd blushed adorably when he asked if he could stay in the room, and Mary's "of course" sent him over the moon. As Mary fed their son, the only noise in the room was the sound of George's suckling although Matthew was sure the beating of his own heart might suddenly create a din.

Mary looked down at her son, and she saw that his blue eyes were open and observant, and she was aware of the feeling of his skin against hers. He had her chin and Matthew's eyes, and she realized one day he would be a boy and the next a man, and she wept silent tears at the overwhelming love she felt for the tiny human who was created in the image of her and Matthew's love. He would ride a bicycle with his father one day, and she would teach him to be a proper horseman. He would endure scrapes and bruises and have tantrums and heartbreak—and he would be loved unequivocally. He sucked and swallowed rhythmically as his tiny hand opened and closed on her skin. When she looked at Matthew, who was the picture of someone in rapture, her emotions returned to the surface, and she patted the bed and urged him to join her.

Shed of his jacket, waistcoat, tie, and shoes, Matthew slid into Mary's hospital bed and cradled her in his arms and watched as she finished feeding their son. He wanted to drink in the moment, the first complete moment with his new family. Strength had found its way into Mary's arms, and she held tiny bundle against her breast and slid her little finger into George's open hand. When his tiny fingers curled around it, she felt his soft breath on the back of her hand and began to cry.

"Mary? What is it?"

"He's just so beautiful, so delicate. He feels so light, looks so perfect, and smells so divine, I never want to put him down."

Matthew chuckled and kissed her temple. "Ought I to be jealous?"

Mary leaned her head against his shoulder. "Perhaps. I'm quite besotted with him. I'm afraid you'll have to be content with being second best for a while."

"I can live with that, my love." He stroked the side of George's cheek, and the infant turned his head, opened his mouth wide, and began to make sucking movements, causing both him and Mary to laugh quietly. He then stroked the sole of George's foot and laughed as the tiny toes curled. "You know, Charles Dickens said **, '** Every baby born into the world is a finer one than the last.' It seems to me George may well be the finest of them all."

Mary nodded in agreement and said, "No doubt. So, tell me again, you spoke with Mama…"

"Yes, and they'll visit after they've had a chance to rest. It seems Violet was of a mind that their presence wasn't needed here anytime soon, a sentiment with which I fully agreed, by the way. I might have hurt Cora's feelings when I told her I wanted time alone with my family, but no matter. Of course, she was thrilled to hear you were doing so well, and Mother said to be sure to tell you to take in plenty of fluids." His eyes flashed with merriment as Mary sighed audibly. "I know they're panting to see you…to see you both. I'm afraid we're going to be inundated with all sorts of advice."

"I know that, too, and I'll try to be patient. I'm just thankful you saw fit to renovate the Dower House and Crawley House; otherwise, I'm afraid we'd never get a moment's peace when we get back to Downton."

They both looked down at George, whose silken eyelashes fluttered on his cheeks. His fist curled on Mary's breast as he began to grow sleepy. Mary adjusted the soft blanket around George and kissed his forehead gently.

Matthew said softly, "You are going to be such a wonderful mother."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're such a wonderful woman. Look at how well you take care of me and the others you love." He caressed her cheek and added, "Do you ever wonder how happy you've made me? I fall more in love with you every day that passes."

Mary smiled, "I feel the same way. How foolish we were, Matthew, to avoid each other all those years when we could have been this happy all along. I thank God every day we finally came to our senses."

Matthew gathered Mary in his arms and sighed in contentment and relief. She was the woman with whom he envisioned spending the next fifty years—raising their children, surviving difficulties, burning for her, needing her, protecting her, his life rotating around her. Having a family with her was the culmination of every dream he ever had, and he closed his eyes, grateful that his world was nestled against him.


End file.
